


Mercer's Addiction

by efmrider



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Brutal Murder, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 84,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efmrider/pseuds/efmrider
Summary: I would like to extend my profound thanks to paraparadigm, who volunteered to be my beta reader.  Her keen eyes and helpful suggestions have been and continue to be invaluable.The Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild have long been linked in Skyrim.  When murder was required, the Guild relied on the Brotherhood to carry it out.  When the Brotherhood needed information, the Guild provided it.  Now something has happened within the Guild to change the status quo.  Guildmaster Mercer has cut off ties with the Brotherhood, refusing to offer any further aid.  Astrid has tasked skilled and deadly Raven with infiltrating the Guild to find out why.  Raven must curb her lust for blood and stalk Mercer, to set him up for the Guild to kill.  This assignment will be the most challenging task she's ever faced.
Comments: 96
Kudos: 65





	1. Eency Weency Spider

“Sister dear, that smells lovely. What delicious concoction are you brewing?” 

Raven adjusted the flame below the alembic carefully, her tongue pressing the inside of her mouth as if that was the proper position to create just the right amount of heat. Then she straightened and turned to the childlike vampire as she removed her gloves to lay them on the alchemy table. 

“Nothing special, sweeting. Just a slow-acting poison. Practice, really. Until Gabriella releases me, I’m not really allowed to use them.” She leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Although that doesn’t mean I haven’t.”

The 300 year old child giggled. “Well I won’t tell!” she whispered back. 

A low, sultry voice sounded from the doorway and both of them turned, startled. 

“Now, now, no secrets…” Astrid drawled. She lounged against the ancient stone, her beautiful countenance and shapely figure forming a perfect picture of evil seduction. Raven blushed. 

“Raven dearest, would you attend me please?” 

“Of course, Astrid.” She moved forward to follow the blond woman as she sauntered back toward the front of the sanctuary. She cast a look back at Babette. “Keep an eye on that mixture for me, will you?”

Astrid led her into the front room where a map of Skyrim lay pinned to a table in the corner, then on into her chambers. Raven’s pulse quickened. Only conferences of the most serious nature occurred in Astrid’s private rooms. She was either in trouble or she was about to be given a serious contract. She couldn’t remember doing anything that might incur their lovely and deadly leader’s wrath, so it had to be a serious contract. Nazir dispensed the more common jobs and she was sick to death of killing farmers, miners and merchants, no matter how good it felt to see the life leave their eyes. There was simply no challenge to it. 

Astrid closed the door behind her and seated herself before the fire, waving a languid hand at the other chair. Raven slid into it and leaned forward, dark eyes glittering with excitement.

“Dear, dear sister,” Astrid purred. “Always so eager to carry out the wishes of our Lord Sithis.” She reached out to smooth a lock of Raven’s midnight hair. “You’ve been such a joy to have in our little family and I am going to miss you terribly.”

Raven sat up straight in shock and felt the blood drain from her head. “Wha—t? You’re dismissing me? What have I done?”

“Oh no, my lovely.” The mistress of dark now took Raven’s hands in her own, squeezing them re-assuringly. “I’m giving you a very special assignment, one I think will suit you perfectly—but it will take you far from us and it will be very long term.”

Raven was not comforted. She sensed from the way Astrid was acting, she wasn’t going to like this one bit. 

“What does our Lord Sithis demand.” It was a challenge rather than a question, delivered in grim tones.

Astrid sighed, looking deeply into her eyes. Raven had seen her direct this type of gaze at others when giving difficult orders, but had never experienced it herself. She felt herself go cold, her shoulders tightening into hard knots of sinew and muscle and her stomach roiled in fear.

“I want you to infiltrate the Thieves Guild.”

“What?!” Raven jerked her hands back, instinctively recoiling. Her face reflected her shock and disgust. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Wait—you mean you want me to kill someone in the Guild?” That would be marginally better.

“No, dear sister. Nothing so _pleasurable_ as that.” Astrid leaned back now, crossing her legs and propping an elbow on one arm of the chair. 

“Relations between our two organizations have become…somewhat strained. That pitiful excuse for a Guildmaster has become…how shall I put it…undesirable. Uncooperative. He has personally insulted me _and_ our family. I want him out.”

“Then you do want me to kill him.”

“No.” Astrid reached out to a spider which was descending from a single strand of web beside her. She allowed the creature to land on the back of her red and black studded glove, and then turned her hand until it maneuvered its way into her palm. She held it for a moment, studying it with clinical interest, then tossed it into the fire with a flick of her risk. It sizzled and disappeared. Still gazing into the fire, she spoke again in malevolent tones.

“I want him discredited. Removed. I want the Guild to hunt him down and make the kill themselves. I do not want us implicated in any way. I want you to do what it takes to cause that to happen. You are going to be my little spider. Weave your web, lie in wait, and tangle him so that he cannot escape.” She turned cold eyes on Raven, and in their depths the Dark Brotherhood’s latest member saw glittering malice. Raven was clear that she was being given no choice.

“I know that you are capable. You have the cunning, the discipline and the skills to work Sithis' will. And…” she smiled the most evil smile Raven had ever seen, “you have the beauty.”

Raven’s face twisted with revulsion. She felt nauseas.

“Oh now don’t give me that look. I’ve seen you seduce far worse.”

“For an evening! Not for…for…however long this will take!” Raven was horrified.

“Think of it as a challenge, my lovely. And when you are done, we’ll have a grateful Guild and a steady flow of information to help us in our endeavors.”

Raven blew out an exasperated breath. “What of Nazir, does he know?”

“He does.”

Raven lowered her head and raised her hands to rub her fingers at her temples in an attempt to ward off an incipient headache. 

“When?”

“As soon as possible. Make your preparations. I won’t hinder you with details you can figure out for yourself. I have full confidence in your abilities.”

“What if I need to contact you?”

“Don’t. We can’t afford for you to get caught. Slide in deep and be the good little thief. No killing.”

“None?”

“None. Unless sanctioned by the Guild of course.”

“That’s like asking me not to fuck.”

“I’m not asking. And fuck all you want. Just don’t quicken. Gabriella can help you there.”

“I’m aware.”

Astrid leaned forward again and placed a hand under her chin, lifting her face to look into her eyes. “Raven, I know this will not be easy. But I will not have that miserable excuse for a Guildmaster slandering our name and blocking our access to information which has always been provided. Something has changed. And I’m betting you can find it and use it against him. Go now. Say your goodbyes. Work Sithis’ will. He will decide Mercer’s fate. With luck, you will be the one the Guild chooses to send him into the Void.” 

She released her then, and lounged back in her chair. Drawing in a deep breath, Raven nodded. Pushing herself up by the arms of her chair, she rose and turned toward the door.

“Good bye, Astrid.”

“Good luck, my darkling.”


	2. Shopping for Thieves

Riften stunk. She’d never before been assaulted with such a stench. The rotten, fishy odor of the stagnant canal which oozed below the boardwalk permeated everything. It added to the misery she felt at having to leave her family--most especially Nazir--behind, for only Sithis knew how long—with no contact. No letters, no visits, she was cut off. Alone.

She’d never been in the city before—no contract had ever required her to come there. This was fortunate, of course, for no one would recognize her. At this point she didn’t even recognize herself. Gaunt, ragged, starving she was.

Nazir’s richly accented tones echoed in her head.

_They’ll be looking for desperation, love. Starve yourself. Wear ragged clothing. You’ve enough time on the journey to do that if you travel on foot. By the time you arrive you’ll be the picture of the perfect prey. They’ll never know they’re taking a viper into their nest._

And then, after a night of shared ecstasy, his goodbye. Taking her roughly by the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her head back and kissing her deeply, he’d said his final words.

_Remember who you belong to._

She pushed the memories back deep, attempting to lock them behind a solid door again. She could not afford to be confused, and certainly could not afford to cry. She must show just the right amount of desperation, not weakness. She moved forward, resolute.

A steel clad warrior stepped out of the shadows to her left and moved to block her way.

“You in Riften lookin’ for trouble?” he demanded. She looked up at him, feeling anger start to flare and squashing it down.

“No, just passing through.”

“Yeah, well I got news for ya’. Nothing to see here. Last thing the Black-Briars need is someone stickin’ their nose in where it don’t belong.”

“Black-Briars?”

“Yeah. The Black-Briars got Riften in their pocket and the Thieves Guild at their back so you keep yer nose outta their business. Me, I’m Maul. I watch the streets for ‘em. You need dirt on anything, I’m your guy—but it’ll cost you.”

“I’ll just stay out of your way.”

_Because if we talk any further I’ll have to slice your throat._

Grunting in disgust, the warrior strutted away, proud king of the streets. She stifled a snort of derision.

The central circle of the city was just ahead, filled with stalls occupied by vendors hawking their wares. The canal went around it in a half circle, and bridges crossed the filthy water at intervals to provide access to the market. She walked across the first one she came to and followed one wall of what appeared to be a tavern until she stood across the boardwalk from a Dunmer woman calling attention to her fresh food—the freshest in all Tamriel! Raven’s nose was trained on the scent of fresh bread, which floated to her on the breeze when some staggering patrons exited through one of the sets of doors of the tavern. Her stomach sat up and begged.

_Not yet,_ she told it, and reached into her pouch to pull out a piece of dried smoked meat. She leaned back against the railing and chewed, while her eyes traveled over the market, examining faces. Then she spotted her prey.

Nazir’s voice again in her head.

_He’ll likely be in the marketplace. He runs a stand there, peddling his miracle cures. Ginger hair, rough beard, scar down one side of his face, green eyes. He’s the Guild’s Second. Hook him and he’ll get you in. Watch out though, thinks with his cock. Although I’m sure you can use that to your advantage._

As if he heard her thoughts, the man left his stand and began to move toward her. She moved her gaze casually away, still keeping him in her peripheral.


	3. Beauty and the Beast

Brynjolf spotted her as soon as she moved past the meat stand. His spiel continued to roll off his tongue in rich brogue as he tallied the details. Not really much he could see for sure at this distance. Long black locks were tied back with a band, rather mussed. Her ragged cloak was pushed back and the baggy brown tunic which hung on her skinny frame had one shoulder ripped as if it had been snagged by a branch, or by an unwanted hand. The straps of what he assumed to be a knapsack stretched the tunic tight at the breast. The belt at her waist supported a pouch and it was either very tight or the pouch was nearly empty. No sag at all. Her trouse were tight and tucked into ragged leather boots. No visible weapons, but she could be harboring a dagger in a boot. 

It was her manner which attracted him most, however. She looked at the doors of the inn as some drunks exited, as if considering whether to go in, then she settled herself against the boardwalk railing and pulled something out of her pouch to chew on instead. Her head moved slowly as she scanned the market and he could tell she was examining the shoppers, as if calculating which might be the easiest mark. Her eyes lit briefly on him, and then moved on. 

Hunger and quiet desperation—and under it, a calculating mind seeking a way out.

_Might be worth a look._

He finished his spiel and put down the bottle of his latest scam cure, then began to move slowly across the marketplace toward her. She was aware of him, of that he was certain, but she was studiously ignoring him, her head turned toward Grelka’s stand. As he moved closer he could see the dark shadows under her eyes, the gauntness of her cheeks, the bone of her shoulder pressed under tanned skin. Not just hungry, but starved. But the curve of her bosom was still ample and he could see latent beauty lingering below the gaunt look. Wide hips moved in a nervous shift of weight as he approached. Finally she turned her head to look at him as he gave her his most winning smile and leaned casually against the railing, keeping his hands in sight.

“Running a little light in the pockets, lass?”

She flushed, and he could see a brief spark of anger in the dark eyes, gone as quick as it came. 

_Beautiful eyes, they are, and long dark lashes. They put Sapphire’s eyes to shame._

She passed that calculating gaze over his body, and he felt as if he were being undressed. “And if they are?” 

_My gods, that voice is velvet and fine wine._

“I could help you fill them.”

She snorted. “I’m no whore. Look elsewhere to fill your stable.”

He feigned hurt. “Ah, you wound me lass,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “Nothing like that. I’m not asking you to sell your body.”

“What then.”

“I’ve a little errand to run, and I need an extra pair of hands. Do it right, and you can earn quite a bit of coin.”

He watched as she tucked the last bit of dried meat into her mouth and crossed her arms, looking down at the boardwalk. “How much coin?”

He moved a little closer, leaning forward. “100 Gold Septims.” 

She looked up, studying his face as if calculating whether or not he spoke the truth. Then the tongue came out, running over her full lips as she thought about it. He wasn’t sure who had who at that point. He could feel his pulse quickening.

“What do I have to do?” _Honey dripping from wet lips._

_Breathe, you arse. You’re not some green lad._

They’d been speaking in quiet tones. Now he lowered his voice further, leaning in even more. “I’m going to cause a distraction. You’re going to steal a silver ring from under the lizard’s stand. Once you have it, place it in the Dunmer trader’s pocket. He’s standing almost in front of us now.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, lass.”

“Alright. Give me a couple of moments to get into place.” A pause. “If you stiff me, or turn me into the guards, I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you.”

Then she moved forward into the market crowd and disappeared. He drew in a breath, astounded both by the threat and the fact that she literally vanished. He could not see her anywhere. He stood for a moment in shock, then moved quickly back to his stand.

“Everyone! Everyone! Gather round! I have something amazing that demands your attention!”

His eyes scanned the crowd as he spoke, the words not needing his attention, rolling off his tongue in well rehearsed syllables. Nothing. He wondered if she was even still in market, if she’d decided to leave him hanging. Then, a brief flash of dark locks moving toward the Dunmer’s stand. Brand-Shei was seated on a crate just to one side of it, but he never saw her appear behind him. He rolled on with his pitch, fielding the hecklers easily. A brief rustle of fabric sounded to his left and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she seated herself casually on a crate against the wall and crossed her legs, leaning back to watch the show. 

“Well, my friends, I’m sorry, but it seems my time is up! Be sure to stop by and get your bottle today!”

The crowd dispersed, most of them grumbling, but a few stepped up to make purchases. He finished up with his customers, then motioned her over. 

“Job’s done,” she said. 

“A moment. The proof of the pudding now.”

He placed a blue bottle in front of the red ones lined up on his shelf, a signal to another member of the Guild. Shortly a couple of guards came over to stand menacingly in front of the Dunmer.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the tableau in front of them.

“Alright Brand-Shei, turn out your pockets! We know you have it.”

“Yes.”

“Have what? What in blazes are you talking about?”

“Do you mind telling me what it is?” _Beautiful and exasperating._

“Don’t play stupid! I said turn out your pockets now!”

“After I get the gold.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t…wait! What’s this ring? This isn’t mine!”

Brynjolf smiled and turned to her. “Well done.” He palmed a bag of coin onto the shelf and she made it disappear so quickly he wasn’t sure when her hand had actually touched it. 

“Thank you.” She turned to leave.

He reached out to grab a handful of shirt and dragged her back.

“Your name?”

She looked at his hand and then back at him. A brief flash of malevolence shone in her eyes, quickly snuffed. He pulled his hand back, unsettled. Then she was gone, disappearing into the tavern.

_What the fuck was that?_


	4. Come Into My Parlor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prayer to Sithis has been borrowed from The Order of Sithis. The order of Sithis is part of the Lorien Trust live role play system. I make no claim to having created it--all credit goes to Lorien Trust.
> 
> http://orderofsithis.yolasite.com/prayers-of-sithis.php

_Astrid’s soft laughter chased itself around in her head. “Men are stimulated so easily, and you are so eminently suited to be the instrument of that stimulation. You have the sultry voice, the expressive eyes, the most delicious scent…not to mention that skillful tongue…The trick, my lovely, is to find that which most excites your particular victim. Watch the dilation of the pupils, the quickening pulse at wrist and throat, the heightened breath…all will give you a clue as to what most stirs him.”_

Raven allowed the doors to close behind her softly, then threaded her way through the crowded room to the bar. She wanted to order food, room and bath before he arrived, for unless she had totally miscalculated--she was certain he would follow. She had cycled through all of the tools at her disposal--even the evil look had been carefully calculated to serve her purpose. She wasn’t here to be his whore. She was here to be a thief—to get into the Guild. Her true prey made his lair beneath the city. This man was merely a means to an end. An appetizer.

The Argonian female at the bar served her, after first demanding that she show coin. She placed four 5 Septim pieces on the bar and the scaled barkeep shook her head, baring her teeth. “That’s five septims more for the bath.”

“When I find the water hot and clean, with soap and drying cloth, you’ll get the rest. I won’t pay for cold dirty water.” The Argonian’s lips curled, but she made the coins disappear and shouted at a serving girl to go prepare a bath. “It’ll be ready when you’ve eaten,” she grumbled.

She managed to find a corner table not too far from the bar and sat to wait. She’d no sooner leaned back and lifted her mug of tea to her lips when the man from the market appeared in front of her.

“May I join you lass?”

“I don’t own the chairs.”

His brow furrowed slightly but he took the seat, waving to a passing wench. He ordered ale, then turned back to her. “I came to apologize, for grabbing your tunic. I was out of line.”

She held the mug in front of her, steam curling upward to caress her face. Slowly she shaped her lips into a pout and blew across the hot liquid, her eyes on his. She saw the apple in his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Apology accepted.”

His ale arrived and he paid for it. “To a successful venture, lass,” he lifted his bottle in toast. She briefly tapped it with her mug and went back to sipping.

The barkeep approached from behind the man with her food and stopped suddenly, hissing. He turned in his chair and smiled at her. Raven could not see his full expression, but she saw the tension in the Argonian’s body and the tightness in the man’s jaw. The lizard’s eyes narrowed and she hurried forward to plop the stew and loaf of bread on the table, sloshing some of the bowl’s contents across the rough surface, departing with an angry swipe of her tail.

Raven made no comment, filing the incident away for future use. Then she applied herself to the food.

The man pulled a long drink from the bottle. “I think it’s high time we introduced ourselves, lass. My name is Brynjolf. You seem reluctant to part with yours.”

Swallowing her first mouthful of the stew with an expression of ecstasy not entirely feigned, she responded. “Sorry. I’m very bad tempered when I’m hungry. My name is Raven.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Raven. In fact, I’m more than pleased. You demonstrated considerable skill out there—much more than just the casual thief. You handled that shill like a professional.”

_Shill. Is that what they call it?_

“With skills like that, I’m surprised you’re not in better shape. You’ve obviously been hungry for some time.”

She raised her eyes to his face again, tearing off a piece of the bread and capturing it with her tongue to pull it into her mouth. Sighing with pleasure, she chewed and swallowed. Again the bob at his throat.

“We all fall upon hard times.”

“Aye. That we do. So I’d like to make you a proposition.”

She lifted her slender brows. “I thought we’d already covered that.”

“You misunderstand me, lass. The Guild I represent makes its home in the Ratway, a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. If you can get there in one piece, I may be able to offer you a permanent place in our organization.”

“May?”

“It’s not entirely up to me.”

_Mercer._

She pretended to think about it while spooning up the last of her stew. Then she turned her dark eyes once again to his green ones.

“I will come. Tomorrow. After I’ve rested.”

He smiled. Genuine this time; it reached his eyes. “I look forward to seeing you there, lass.” He tapped the table, rose and flipped a coin onto it, then walked toward the door, his shoulders straight and his step jauntier than when he’d arrived.

She smiled at his back. Astrid would have been pleased to see the wicked light in her darkling’s eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bath was glorious. Other than dips in rills and ponds, she’d not had one since leaving the Sanctuary. She washed the dim dusting of kohl from under her eyes and lower cheeks—used to emphasize her starved condition, and thoroughly washed her hair. Then after relaxing until the water was tepid, she washed her clothing. Nazir’s sharp razor removed the hair from her legs and under her arms. After stepping out of the tub and drying herself she spread the oily sweet cream Babette had provided to smooth her dry skin.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, which did not entirely cover her nude body, she climbed the stairs with her belongings and boldly walked through the tavern, up the next level and into the room which was hers for the night. The inn had cleared of most patrons, but the male Argonian sweeping up the mess from the night’s revelries stared at her in shock. The barkeep threw a mug at him and he quickly turned back to his duty, his pouched throat glowing a darker red.

The single chair in the room became a wedge for the door, extra security for the night. The room was warm, fortunately, for it was above the fireplace below. Her garrote became a temporary clothesline for the trouse. The blouse and smalls were draped over the end of the bed. She’d drawn the extra moisture out of everything with the drying cloth, so she expected they would be dry by morning. But she would not be wearing the torn brown tunic. Drawing a cloth wrapped package from the pack, she unwrapped a long sleeved black silken tunic, adorned with red embroidery. A gift from Nazir, imported from Hammerfell.

_When you wear it, my dark beauty, think of me._

She smiled at the memory and did not wipe away the tear that traced a wet path down her cheek.

The ebony dagger in her boot was polished and honed. It was similar to the blade she'd been given by the Brotherhood and bore the same enchantment, but was not marked with the symbol of the dark order.

The rest of her belongings she spread on the bed to inventory and re-pack in pouch and pack. Brynjolf would have been surprised to see the wide assortment of poisons, potions and other useful items, including gold coins, she’d managed to stow without seeming too over burdened. The liquid items were held in small compact bottles, so powerful that only small amounts were needed. Gabriella and Babette had been generous. Most of them were for her use. The poisons were few, for she knew she could not use them on the Guild members, as tempting as that was. But…there was always a possibility she’d need them…and she felt naked without them.

Once all was prepared, she lifted her arms in a bone popping stretch, then progressed through a series of moves to limber all her muscles, although the bath had done much for that. As she moved, she heard low voices through the door.

“Have you heard from your sister in Morrowind?” That was Talen, the sweeper and her unwilling ogler. Raven had heard the barkeep bellow his name several times during the evening.

“Yes, I have. She said the baby is nearly there and the farm is producing as well as can be expected with the ash.”

“Good, good. It’s nice to get some pleasant news for a change.”

There followed a not quite silence, with noises suggestive of cuddling. She grimaced, one part of her mind trying to work out the logistics of that for two Argonians, and and another part trying to suppress it.

“Good night, Talen.”

“Good night, my lovely Keerava.”

_So they are lovers, and the barkeep, Keerava, has a sister in Morrowind who owns a farm and has a baby on the way. Or is it an egg to hatch? I’ll have to ask Veezara._

Again she filed the tidbit away and lowered herself to her knees to pray.

_Mighty one, look upon me_   
_Purify me with your venom_   
_Your poison feeds the mouth of disorder_   
_I obey your law I obey the disorder_   
_Sithis, I give myself to you_

_Mighty one, see me_   
_Wash away any weakness so I may be strong_   
_Never will I falter, never will I let you down_   
_I will defend you with all I have_   
_Sithis, I strive for you_

_Mighty one, watch me_   
_Rinse away all that is impure_   
_Let me be your knife_   
_The one who cuts through your enemies life_   
_Sithis, I am ready to fight for you_

_Mighty one, guide me_   
_Cleanse my mind let my will be great_   
_If I fall let me shed this skin_   
_I know no fear_   
_Sithis, I will sacrifice myself for you_

She slept soundly, wrapped securely in the darkness.


	5. Occidendum

_ “Mercer Frey. Mid-length black hair, scar on right cheek and chin, dark grey-blue eyes. Breton, but tall for his race. Master Swordsman. Don’t ever cross blades with him. _

_ He took over the Guildmaster position after the former Master was murdered by one of their own. I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t him who made the kill and that might be one thread to untangle.” _

_ Nazir placed a hand at the small of her back and pulled her close, smoothing his other hand through her hair and settling at her throat, his thumb resting lightly against the pulse point. _

_ “He’s dangerous, Raven. Undoubtedly the most dangerous prey you’ve ever tracked. Be careful. Don’t ever let your guard down with him. Your usual tactics aren’t going to work. You won’t be able to reel him in like others you have tangled in your web, so don’t even try. You’ll have to play it by ear as you learn more about him.” _

_ “Like you.” _

_ Nazir threw his head back, laughing, the rich dark sound echoing in their chamber. _

_ “Your blade found my heart the moment you dragged yourself into the Sanctuary, love. I was just too stubborn to realize it.” _

Raven awoke early; unusual for her, especially when the warm bed was so much more comfortable than the hard ground she’d been sleeping on for the last two sevendays. She stretched languidly, thinking of the day’s objective and feeling a certain nervousness born of anticipation. Then she rolled to her feet and began preparations. 

Breast band, smalls, trouse, boots, gloves...brush through the hair, working out the tangles. She propped her small looking glass on the nightstand and ran a crushed snowberry around her lips, then mixed the rest of the juice with cream and spread it on her cheeks. Her face seemed less gaunt than the day before, although she knew it would take a few meals more to gain back the weight she’d lost.

She slid the black silk on and smoothed it around her upper torso, shook out the sleeves and stood, thinking of Nazir. Then she pulled it carefully back over her head and wrapped it back up to place in her pack. The shops should be open now. She pulled the ragged brown tunic out and donned it instead. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After breakfast, she left the Inn on the Meadery side. Keerava had grumbled but had pointed her in the direction of the Pawned Prawn, which was right next to it. A portly dark elf was fumbling in his pocket in front of the Meadery’s door. He drew out a set of keys and a small round disk fell to the cobblestone pavement at his feet. Raven’s sharp eyes recognized it as a Mark of Dibella. She had once found one on a victim and had kept it as a curiosity.

The elf picked it up quickly, nearly losing his balance, then looked both ways to see if anyone was watching. Raven walked quickly to the right, biting the inside of her lip to keep from sniggering. She collided almost immediately with an attractive blonde woman coming from the opposite direction and her hands reached out instinctively to take the woman’s arms as she staggered back.

“Get your filthy hands off me, beggar.”

Raven released her, noting the Amulet of Dibella hanging from her lovely neck. 

“I’m not a beggar. And I would think a follower of Dibella would be more...friendly than you seem to be.”

The woman’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh, I see. You prefer his type,” she smiled, motioning with her head to the elf who was just now entering the Meadery. 

The woman flushed a bright red. 

_ So it IS her mark. _

“It’s a pity really,” purred Raven, stepping closer. “You’ve never known pleasure until you’ve shared it with another woman.” She leaned forward and inhaled deeply. “Such a sweet scent.” 

Flustered, the woman gasped; then ran around her and disappeared around the corner of the building. Raven walked on to the door of the shop, laughing softly. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_ The Ratway is a series of tunnels and cisterns below the city, remnants of the old water storage system, from a long time ago. It’s not really a sewer but it might as well be now. It’s filled with all sorts of lowlives and vermin, so be prepared. You can slake a little of your blood lust there, at least. The entrance is on the lower level of the boardwalks, below Honorhall Orphanage. Should be easy to find. The tunnels are a maze, so try not to get lost. _

Raven stood at the entrance, taking a mental inventory of herself. She still wore the brown tunic. If she had to kill, Sithis willing, she didn’t want to get blood on the tunic she’d just purchased. Her dagger was ready in her boot. She twisted her hair up into a knot at the back of her head and pushed the door open. 

Stairs led down into a tunnel, at the end of which flickering light indicated the presence of a fire. She could hear the wood popping as air pockets inside the logs heated and burst. 

A man was speaking. “I dunno, Drahff. They’d skin us alive if they found out we were doing this.”

She crept forward silently, ducking into an alcove to listen. Another man responded.

“Why do you always have to act like such a big baby? I’ve gotten us this far.”

“This far? We’re living in a sewer. You said we’d have a house as big as the Black-Briar’s by now.”

“You just worry about bashing people’s heads in. I’ll worry about the Guild, okay?”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m going to go check the entrance. Be right back.”

Raven stepped back deeper into shadows and waited until the man was past her. She hesitated a moment, debating. It would be so simple to send them into the Void. Too simple. She stepped closer to the light and checked both sides of the junction. The second man was crouched by the fire, his back to her, his shadow stretched out long on the floor behind him. 

There was only one way to turn, to the right, away from him. So she walked silently past, until she was able to slip into the shadows again. Turning right, she stepped out of an archway onto a stone platform. Ahead she could see a raised bridge at the end of a matching platform. Below was a rectangular room, from which exited another tunnel, lit by a smoky torch. Idly she wondered what purpose this room served in the scheme of an ancient water system. There seemed to be no way to lower the bridge from where she stood.

Dropping lightly from her perch to the room below, she examined the stone wall on the far side of the bridge. There were no projections, nothing she could get a purchase on to climb. Frowning, she turned around and moved into the next tunnel, which was blocked by a solid wooden door.

Her eyes immediately spotted the wire at the bottom right. A trap. She moved as close as she dared and crouched to study it, noting the holes in the stone floor, where she supposed flames or pikes were waiting. There didn’t seem to be anyway to disable it without triggering it. Frustrated, she rose to her feet and turned back to the room she had just left, studying the wall beside the stone platform once again. 

She stepped back a few paces, moving to place the wall squarely in front of her and sidled as close to the platform as she could. She breathed deeply.

_ Mighty one, see me_

_ Wash away any weakness so I may be strong _

_ Never will I falter, never will I let you down _

_ I will defend you with all I have _

_ Sithis, I strive for you!_

With the last word of the prayer she ran forward at full speed, leaping to run up the wall. As she rose above the level of the platform, she turned and hurled herself toward the walkway. She landed hard, jarring both shoulders and skinning her left knee through the fabric of her trouse. The gloves had protected her hands. Stifling a cry of pain, she struggled to get to her feet. The sound of footsteps behind her caused her to look over her shoulder. A man in rags was running toward her, lifting a rusty war axe. 

Adrenaline flooded her body and she threw herself back against the wall. His momentum carried him forward past her. Drawing the ebony dagger, she plunged it into his back. He screamed, and she felt his life force begin to drain through the blade into her. He dropped the axe and she pushed him forward to fall face down on hard stone. She threw herself on top of him, using her full weight to hold him down; then withdrew the knife and sunk it carefully into his spine, severing the cord. He screamed in agony, unable to move his lower body, as she calmly held the blade in place, growing stronger as he grew weaker, siphoning his life force.

_ Let me be your knife, Lord Sithis. _

_ The one who cuts through your enemies life. _

_ Let me grow stronger through my service to you! _

When he lay still, she withdrew the knife, wiped it on his ragged shirt and returned it to her boot. Rising to her feet, she looked forward through the slats of the raised bridge. She could see the two men she had passed on the way in. She reached out to the lever on the wall at her right and flipped it. The bridge dropped, settling into place with a rattling crash.

“Would you like to join him in the Void?” Her sultry voice, laced with malevolence, echoed in the chamber like an evil presence. The two of them stumbled backwards, then turned and ran. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, feeling the tension drain; feeling stronger than she had in many days.


	6. The Extortion Racket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little is known of the Redguard Language, otherwise known as Yoku. It's had two forms, the original and what it became when the Redguards changed it to trade more easily with the rest of Tamriel. My study of the language did not reveal any words suitable for an endearment, so I've borrowed from Arabic, which I feel most suits the Redguard people. The word Jawakra means Jewel, in Arabic. I added the apostrophe to bring the word closer to the appearance of a Redguard word.

_The Ragged Flagon is not really a part of the Guild, although the fences use it as a base of operations. It’s just a tavern; a very rough one. The barkeep goes by the name of Vekel the Man. He has a bouncer they call Dirge. He’ll snap your neck in a heartbeat. So watch your step._

_They’re not going to welcome you with open arms. Everyone must demonstrate some skills useful to them. So likely they’ll have you performing some small jobs to prove yourself before letting you in to see their real hideout, which is in the main cistern._

Raven discovered the door to the Flagon in the next room. She opened it a crack to take a peek, then closed it quietly and walked back to a table which stood in the center of the chamber. She removed her pack and set it down; then pulled off her bloody gloves and dug out the new tunic and her hairbrush. She replaced the brown blood-stained tunic with the new one and pulled her hair out of its knot to brush it. Then she stuffed everything back in and re-slung the pack.

Before she turned back to the door, she took out her small looking glass to check her face and neck for blood spray. She was clean. Her strike had not severed any major arteries, so most of the blood had pooled.

She was ready. She pushed open the door to the tavern and entered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Give it up, Brynjolf, those days are over. You, Vex, Delvin — you’re all part of a dying breed! Things are changing!”

Brynjolf gestured with his bottle of ale and nodded sagely. “I’m tellin’ ya, this one is different.”

Sounds of a scuffle and a yelp of pain caused all heads to turn to the ramp where Dirge stood guard. Brynolf’s eyes widened in alarm as he recognized Raven. Dirge was holding her pinned to the wall, one massive hand around her throat, and from the way she was clawing at his hand he knew the big Nord was choking her.

He put down the ale and slid off the barstool; then walked quickly toward them. “Here! Dirge! Let her go! She’s here on business!”

Dirge glared over his shoulder at the Guild’s second, but released her. She grabbed the railing with one hand and raised the other to her throat as she bent over, coughing and trying to draw in a full breath. Brynjolf scowled at Dirge.

“She gave me some lip,” the bouncer growled.

“All...I...said...was..._cough_...he...needed...to...ask...you..._cough_...what...you...wanted...me...for…” she broke into another fit of coughing.

Brynjolf sighed, then took her by the arm and guided her over to the nearest table. She fell into a chair and bent over, elbows on knees, trying to recover. He went to retrieve his ale and grabbed one for her as well. He sat in the chair next to hers and uncorked the bottle, holding it out to her.

She’d managed to catch her breath by that time, and she reached out to take it. She drank it in small mouthfuls.

“That’s much better, thanks,” she said hoarsely.

“Sorry about that. Dirge is...touchy.”

“I gathered that much.” She continued sipping.

Brynjolf studied her with some amazement. Her hair was loose now, draped in a shining black curtain around her shoulders. Her face seemed fuller and there was color in her cheeks. Her full lips gleamed with a red sheen. She’d replaced the brown rag she’d been wearing the day before with a new flax colored tunic. It hugged her figure more snugly, and the pack she wore pulled it tight across her full breasts. The beauty he’d seen below the surface had bloomed into full being.

_Gods, how I’d like to run my hands through that beautiful hair._

He cleared his throat, mentally shaking himself. Business first, or Mercer would have his head. The last few candidates he’d brought in had not passed the test and he’d been warned that if he didn’t stop wasting Guild resources he was going to suffer for it.

She sat up, and turned toward him. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have more to do than rescue damsels in distress.”

Brynjolf chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “Normally I’d say that’s true, but in your case I think I’d make an exception.”

She smiled, dropping her eyes as if embarrassed. “What’s next?”

“Well...now that I’ve whetted your appetite, how ‘bout handling a few deadbeats for us?”

She looked up at him. “Deadbeats? What did they do?”

“They owe our organization some serious coin, and they’ve decided not to pay. I want you to teach them the error of their ways.”

“Who are they?”

“Keerava, owner of the Bee & Barb, Haelga, who runs The Bunkhouse, and Bersi Honey-Hand, a shopkeeper. He owns the Pawned Prawn.”

She nodded. “I’ve met Keerava and Bersi.”

“Haelga is a blond beauty. Worships Dibella. You never see her without her amulet.”

He watched as her slender eyebrows rose. “I did actually meet her then. I ran into her this morning, although she wasn’t very friendly.”

“Of course she wouldn’t be to you, lass. You put her good looks to shame.”

A blush this time. “I wonder how many women you’ve said that to.”

He tilted his head back, smiling wryly. “Well, I won’t lie to you, I’ve an eye for a beautiful lady. But I haven’t said it as often as you might think.”

“Alright, how much coin do they owe?”

“100 Septims each. But this isn’t really about the gold anymore, lass. This is about respect. I want you to get the message across that we aren’t to be ignored. If you can get the gold, wonderful. But the message is more important.”

She nodded. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “That’s all, lass.”

She started to rise. “I guess I better get going then.” He watched her reach into her pouch and saw the gleam of gold as she drew out some coins. "Here, for the ale."

“No lass, that was my treat.”

“Thanks again, then.” She returned the coins to her pouch and turned, walking toward the ramp, and he chuckled as she sped quickly past Dirge. Then she slowed and he watched her until she disappeared through the door.

_Firm arse too. Has a nice sway to it._

He rose to return to the bar, stopping as he saw all eyes on him. Delvin was sitting with his arms crossed, a silly grin on his face. Vekel gave him a sly look, then turned his head away, whistling off key. Vex snorted, then broke out into outright laughter.

“What?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven stormed out of the Ratway, banging the door against the stone and letting it slam behind her. The two men who had run from her earlier had been absent, or she would have sent them into the Void just for spite. Her throat was killing her. It had taken all of her control not to plunge her dagger into Dirge’s eye, or slice his throat. She’d done nothing to incur his wrath — he’d just been looking for an excuse to inflict pain. What made it worse was the fact that she knew she would have to find a way to make peace with him. The thought filled her with rage.

_Calm yourself, Jawa’kra. You can’t think clearly when you are raging._

She pushed the thought away angrily and trotted up the stairs; then turned and walked quickly toward the Inn. She pushed the doors open and stormed across the room to the bar. There were few patrons in the tavern at this hour. Keerava looked up in surprise.

“Are you ready to pay the gold you owe to the Guild?”

The Argonian bared her teeth, lips curling and eyes narrowing. “No,” she hissed. “And I never will be. Now get out of my Inn!”

Raven walked around the bar, dark eyes filled with malice. The barkeep backed up as she approached, until she was pressed against the wall. Talen, who had been watching in alarm, now moved forward, brandishing the broom he held. “Hey! You leave—”

Raven turned her head to look at him and bared her teeth, hissing.

Talen gulped and stepped back.

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” Raven snarled in Keerava’s face. “You borrowed money from the Guild. Now you’re going to pay it back, with interest. If you don’t, then someone is going to pay that little farm in Morrowind a visit. I don’t think I need to tell you what’s going to happen then.”

All color drained from the pouch at Keerava’s throat. “How...how could you possibly..._please_,” she begged. “My family means too much to me. _Please_ don’t hurt them.”

“Pay us what you owe, and they will be safe.”

Keerava reached for the strongbox under the bar and began to count out the gold with trembling hands. She scooped it into an empty coin purse and handed it silently over.

Raven tucked it into her pouch. “The Guild will expect to see more respect from you in the future, Keerava. Remember that.”

She turned, stepped around the end of the bar and walked toward the exit, shoving Talen out of the way when he did not move. As she approached the doors, she could see a young woman dressed similarly to the thieves she had seen in the Flagon, leaning against the wall, watching her.

_Of course they would have someone watching me._

“Problem?” Raven asked, stopping in front of her.

The woman’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Not at all. Just watching the show. Not bad.”

Raven nodded tightly and walked on, pushing the doors open a bit more gently now.

Once outside she walked back toward the city gate, looking both ways for her next destination. There had been nothing like a bunkhouse on the market side. She spotted it as she rounded the corner of the Bee & Barb, directly across the canal from the tavern. She crossed the bridge in front of it and entered quietly this time, not knowing the layout.

A counter, unoccupied, stood in front of her. There seemed to be no one in the place at all. It was quiet. Then she heard a sigh and a rattle of dishes in the room to the left. She walked to the doorway to look. A young woman was clearing dishes from one of several tables in the room. She looked up in surprise, then turned her attention back to the chore, a weary look on her face.

“The bunkhouse is for people who work in Riften,” she said in somber tones. “You’ll want the Bee & Barb.”

“I came to see Haelga. Where is she?”

The girl shrugged. “She said she was going to the market. You can probably find her there.”

“Go get her.”

The girl looked up again, finally showing a little spirit. “Just who do…”

Raven stepped forward, showing her teeth. “I said go get her. Now. Tell her that her time is up.”

Now alarmed, the girl dropped the dishes on the table and hurried around her, disappearing through the doors as if she couldn’t get away from Raven fast enough.

Raven prowled the rooms, looking for something she might use against the woman — something of value she might not want to lose. As she entered the largest room to the right of the doors, she spotted the small shrine to Dibella in a corner, not visible from the entrance. A statue of the goddess, gilded in gold, rested in the center of the table. She walked over and ran a finger over the voluptuous figure, smiling wickedly.

The doors opened and she left the shrine quickly to meet the two women as they entered. The lovely blonde she’d baited that morning glared as she recognized Raven. “What do _you_ want?”

“I’m here to deliver a message. From Brynjolf.”

“What does he want _now_? I already told him you can’t get blood from a stone.”

Raven began a slow circuit around her, inhaling and running her eyes over every curve. Haelga shifted uncomfortably.

“I’d hardly call you a stone, Haelga.”

“Look, I can’t make the coin appear out of thin air. Be reasonable. I’ll...I’ll pay next month.”

“The Guild has run out of patience, Haelga. Your time is up.”

“And so have I,” she growled. “What’s the point of paying anyway? Your outfit can’t even fend for itself. I could do better tossing the gold into the sewer. You can’t scare me with your tough talk. I’m not paying you people a single coin.”

Raven stared at the woman, her eyebrows raised, genuinely surprised.

_Now THAT is an interesting tidbit. Is the Guild in trouble? That might explain the sudden change in attitude toward the Brotherhood..._

She debated whether or not she should try to draw more information out; then decided it would be detrimental to her current purpose. She would have to find out another way. She turned deliberately away from the woman and walked over to the shrine to pick up the statue.

“This should bring enough coin to pay your debt,” she mused, weighing it in her hands. “Or perhaps I should just throw it down the well.”

“NO!” Haelga started forward, reaching for it. Raven pushed her back with one hand and held the statue out of her reach with the other.

“Not Lady Dibella! I can’t lose her!”

Raven lifted her head and narrowed her eyes, waiting.

Haelga glared at her. “Fine. I get the message.” She walked around behind the counter, snatched up a coin purse and tossed it at Raven. Catching it deftly with her free hand, Raven tossed it back. “Count it out.”

Haelga gave her a venomous look and then did as she was told. She held out the bag. “Give me the statue.”

Raven took the bag from her hand and set the statue on the counter at the same time. “The Guild demands respect, Haelga. We won’t be so lenient next time, and you are living in a very precarious situation. It would be a shame if word were to leak out that you were practicing your Dibellan arts in Riften.”

For the first time, Raven saw fear in Haelga’s eyes. Satisfied that she’d finally reached the woman, she turned and left.

_One more to go. Gods, and they do this everyday? Being a thief is much more tiring than being an assassin._

Her anger had cooled by now, but her throat still felt raw. The bruised skin around her neck throbbed. She paused outside the Pawned Prawn to set her pack on a barrel and dig out a small red bottle. She took a couple of sips, returned the vial to its pocket and stood for a moment, giving the potion time to dull the pain.

The afternoon sun was waning, casting long shadows across the market. The gold and red leaves on the trees contrasted sharply with the dull gray of unpainted wood and old stone. People moved among the stalls; some harried as they gathered the ingredients of suppers to come; some languid, just enjoying the pleasant afternoon weather. Vendors called out, extorting the virtues of their wares in eager tones, trying to attract as many customers as possible before day’s end. A flock of small birds pecked at the pavement in front of the meadery.

_It’s almost homey. Peaceful._

Shaking herself from her reverie, Raven hefted her pack again and entered the shop.

Bersi was working at one of the shelves, arranging his goods. Hearing the door open, he looked around at his visitor and jumped. His eyes widened in fear and he looked as if he were going to drop right on the spot from heart failure.

“Oh no — you’re the one from Brynjolf’s outfit, aren’t you?” He put out a placating hand and maneuvered to place the counter between himself and her.

_Evidently word of my exploits has already spread._

“Now...there’s no need to do anything hasty,” he continued in a shaking voice. “You can tell Brynjolf not to worry about it any more.”

“Oh, he’s not worried, Bersi. He’s confident I will return with the gold.”

“Ah, yes,” he let out a weak laugh. “I do have the gold, here…” He fumbled under the counter and pulled out a coin purse, shoving it toward her. “It’s all there, you can count it.”

“No, you can count it.”

He pulled the bag back and dumped it on the counter, slapping at coins as they rolled in every direction and bending to retrieve a few he missed. She watched him count, smiling at the quiver in his voice, then accepted the bag and placed it in her pouch.

She stood, staring at him, wondering how far she dared push it.

“Is...is there anything else?”

“I’m rather hungry.”

“Oh! Yes! Well! Help yourself, of course!” He gestured to a shelf laden with produce and cheeses.

Setting her pack on the counter, she scooped up a couple of apples, some cheese and a loaf of bread and stuffed them into it. She held one apple back and took a large bite, the juice running down her chin. Wiping the juice away with the back of her hand, she chewed and swallowed.

“I trust you understand now, Bersi, that the Guild demands respect.”

“Oh yes! Yes, of course! Please tell Brynjolf he’ll have no more trouble from me.”

“I’ll do that. Just remember that next time, we won’t be so forgiving. You have many nice things in this shop,” she mused, placing a hand on a delicate Dwemer pot. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened in fear. “It would be regrettable if they were to somehow be damaged.”

“No, no, please, I’ve paid you…”

“Yes, you have. She patted the pot gently and looked at him one last time. Good afternoon, Bersi. I look forward to doing business with you again.”

She shouldered her pack and left, munching on the apple.


	7. Silence, My Brother

Raven approached Dirge cautiously, studying him carefully, her expression neutral. Her normal approach would not work, having failed miserably before. She stopped just out of his reach, her body tense with the need to anticipate and avoid any move he might make.

“Hello, Dirge.”

The tall Nord scowled, moving to block the ramp. “Yeah, whatta you want?”

_Obviously I want to pass, you moron._

“I only want to see Brynjolf. He sent me to do some jobs and I’m here to tell him they’re done.”

“He’s not here.”

“Would you let me wait for him?”

“Vekel don’t like strange people hangin’ about.”

_Yes, you said that before. How many sentences do you know?_

“Well, I’m not exactly strange anymore...I was here before.”

His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to process her words and make sense of them. Sudden insight struck. The man was a simpleton!

“You ain’t one of us,” he finally said.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration, then tried a different tack. “Dirge is a different name. Why are you called that?”

His scowl deepened and he stepped forward, dripping with menace. “‘Cause I’m the last thing you hear before they put you in the ground. Why? You think it’s funny or somethin’?”

She had his measure now. Simple people were often very defensive because of the ridicule they endured. She shook her head. “No, I think it’s very clever. Very scary. Did you think of it yourself?”

He seemed to relax just a little. “No, Vekel gave it to me.”

“Well it’s a very good name.”

His scowl softened somewhat. “Yeah? Ya’ know, you’re pretty smart.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Dirge. That’s very kind of you to say. You know, you have a very good job here, and you do it very well.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yes. You’re in out of the rain and the snow, and all you have to do is keep people from causing trouble. Many people would love to have a job like that.”

His mouth actually curved into a slight smile at her words.

_My gods, his face is going to crack._

“You know, I could sit on that crate over there,” she pointed at a small crate against the wall about five feet from him, “and you could keep an eye on me. I’d be out of the way and I wouldn’t cause any trouble, I swear. I just want to wait for Brynjolf to come back.”

He looked at the crate and then back at her.

“Please?”

“Alright. But if you try anything, I’ll smash in your skull.”

“I won’t be any trouble. I promise.” Cautiously she moved forward, turning sideways to keep him in sight. He followed her with his eyes and continued staring at her as she sat. She set her pack down and opened it to pull out the wedge of cheese she’d extorted from Bersi. Leaning back against the wall, she began to munch, settling in to wait, irritated and anxious in the uneasy truce with the big Nord.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer leaned over the ledger and made the final alteration in the figures, then blew across the ink to speed up the drying process. He viewed the result with satisfaction, then wiped the tip of the quill and replaced the cork in the inkwell.

_Child’s play. These idiots are so easy to fool._

He flipped the ledger closed and locked the catch; then dropped the key into an inner pocket of his armored jacket. Picking up the bottle of Black-Briar mead he’d set aside earlier, he leaned back in his chair and took a long pull. He transferred his attention to the door leading into the Flagon. Brynjolf had yet to return with the latest recruit — female, of course; he hired with his cock. The man’s mistakes were growing tiresome. The only reason he’d kept him on so long was his uncanny ability to keep order within the Guild, and his propensity for sniffing out a good opportunity. Too bad he didn’t seem capable of finding good candidates.

_What’s taking the fool so long?_

The door opened as he finished the thought. Brynjolf stepped through, followed by the woman. Mercer leaned forward to rise; then froze, feeling himself go cold. He could only see her silhouette in the torchlight of the entryway, and the slow cat-like walk, one foot placed in front of the other in sure grace, immediately summoned a memory from the distant past. A wraith come to haunt him; to torment him in his dreams and waking hours; something he’d thought long dispelled.

_It CAN’T be her._

Then she stepped into the dim green light filtering through to the Cistern from the well above and the illusion shattered. The walk was the same, the sway of the hips, the lithe movement in every part of her body, but this woman was not mer. He began to breathe again. Rising slowly from his chair, he went to meet them.

“Mercer,” Brynjolf nodded in greeting. “This is the one I was telling you about.”

Mercer barely spared a glance for his Second; his eyes trained on the woman, taking in every detail; assessing her value; noting the fullness of her breasts, slender waist, firm round hips, long legs. She matched him in height, and those dark eyes set deep in a tanned face framed by shoulder length black silk returned his gaze in candid interest. The angular lines of her countenance suggested Imperial heritage.

His eyes came to rest on the bruises at her throat. He reached out to move her hair aside, then placed a finger under her chin. She lifted it obligingly and he felt satisfaction that she responded readily to his touch.

“What happened here?” He ran a finger lightly over the purple marks.

“Dirge.”

Succinct. Good. He couldn’t stand idle chatter, especially from a female. He lowered his hand.

“And what lesson did you learn?”

“Use simple sentences.”

He chuckled, in spite of himself. She was quick at least; and the low, sensual tone of her voice was pleasing.

“What can you offer the Guild?”

“Silence.”

He stared at her, momentarily bereft of words. Most candidates bragged about their lockpicking or pickpocketing skills. Her single word distilled everything related to thievery down to the basic principle. Act in silence.

_Brynjolf seems to have finally found someone worthwhile. I guess even idiots can be right once in a while._

“What shall we call you?” It wasn’t a question he normally asked. Typically he didn’t care. A shouted pronoun usually sufficed, if that. Generally he passed his orders through his Second. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to know.

“Raven.”

He stepped closer, until he was almost touching her. She stood unwavering, her eyes fastened on his in open scrutiny. Her scent washed over him; clean, musky, tantalizing; fine incense burned in a luxurious bath.

“You will play by our rules. No debates, no discussions. You do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, Guildmaster.”

“Good. Thirty day probation. If you haven’t proven your ability to add to the Guild’s coffers by that time, you’re out. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster.”

He moved back a step, crossing his arms. “Mercer will do.”

She nodded, a single dip of her head; obeisance.

He turned to his Second. “Show her the ropes, then get her started. I want to see some results.” Then he turned on his heel and walked back to his desk.

As he re-seated himself and picked up some letters, he glanced up to see Brynjolf walking back toward the Flagon beside her, gesturing earnestly. The Second’s arm slid casually around her shoulders. Mercer’s face twisted with irritation and he felt...something else; something he couldn’t quite put a name to; or didn’t want to put a name to. Something he had disposed of long ago and thought forgotten.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Well, well, color me impressed, lass.”

Raven tore her gaze from Mercer’s retreating back and looked over at Brynjolf. His raised eyebrows and admiring glance seemed to indicate that she’d just done something amazing.

“What do you mean?”

He took a step forward and placed a hand at her elbow, turning her gently back toward the Flagon. “I’ve never seen Mercer ask for a name before. Obviously you made quite the impact.”

“I felt like a broodmare he was considering purchasing.”

He laughed, and slid his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her lightly. “I wouldn’t take that to heart, lass. We have to be careful who we allow into the Guild.”

He reached for the door and held it open for her, then followed her through.

“So what’s next?”

“Now, we get you set up with your new Guild armor and get you settled in. We’ll run you through your paces tomorrow, see what you know and what your strengths are. After that, you can start taking on some of the smaller jobs.

“Can I eat first? I’m starving.”

“I think we can make time for that,” he smiled.

_How generous of you._


	8. Sliding In

Sapphire showed Raven around the Guild after she’d eaten and been fitted with armor. They stopped at the bed which was to be hers first and she was pleased to be able to lock her things into the chest at its foot. The bed was the closest one to Mercer’s desk, but he was not in evidence by that time. It was late and a few of the thieves were already snoring.

“I’m surprised,” Sapphire told her as they walked to the privy. “Mercer usually doesn’t accept the women that Brynjolf brings in.”

“Didn’t you give him a report of how I handled those shopkeepers? I figured that was part of it.”

“Me? Talk to Mercer?” The dark haired woman shuddered, rubbing her arms as if taken by a sudden chill. “Not likely. I’m terrified of him. No. I report to Brynjolf.”

“Why does he scare you? Has he ever done anything to hurt you?”

“No…” Sapphire gave her a puzzled look. “You mean to tell me that he didn’t make your skin crawl? Not even a little bit?”

Raven looked straight ahead down the tunnel through which they were walking; considering. “I wouldn’t call it that, no. There is...an anger there...but I did not feel that it was directed at me. Certainly it would not be wise to cross him, but I did not fear him.”

“You’re braver than I am. Or crazier, I’m not sure which. Just watch your step.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you for the warning.”

They availed themselves of the privy, then Sapphire pointed out the bath.

“You have a bath?”

“Well, we call it that.” She opened the door and Raven looked in to see a room flooded with water pouring from several cascades which fell from shafts near the ceiling.

“It’s cold, of course, but it’s clean. It doesn’t come from the lake. It’s been diverted from a stream which flows down out of the mountains behind Riften. Better than nothing. If only the men used it more often,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Raven chuckled. “Does Mercer use it?”

Sapphire cocked her head, giving her an odd look. “No...he has his own house in the city. Why?”

“He didn’t stink.”

“Oh. Well, I never get that close to him.” They turned to go back to the main cistern and Sapphire was quiet.

“How long have you been with the Guild, Sapphire?”

She looked up, and Raven thought she saw something in her brown eyes. Anger? Sorrow? Regret?

“Longer than I care to remember,” she said.

Raven sensed she was treading somewhere that Sapphire did not want to go. She decided to change the subject. “I didn’t come to Riften looking to join. But Brynjolf offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

“He can be pretty persuasive.”

“He seems to be quite the ladies man.”

Sapphire snorted. “He thinks he is. I wouldn’t go there if I were you, though. As soon as the next pretty woman caught his eye, he’d be off again.”

“Have you ever…”

“No.” They’d reached the Cistern now and Sapphire looked across the wide chamber, her eyes distant, as if she wasn’t seeing it. Her face was set like stone. “Not these arseholes. Not anybody.”

_I wonder what--who--hurt her so badly._

“Good night, Sapphire. Thanks for showing me around.”

She seemed to shake herself from whatever had held her in its grip, then offered Raven a small smile. “Sure. Night.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the Redguard approach. He held a bowl of stew in one hand and a small wide lipped jar in the other. She’d never had any contact with Redguards before, and a nervous shiver coursed through her body._

_He set the bowl on the table beside the bed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of her._

_“My name is Nazir.”_

_She nodded, too nervous to speak._

_“And your name is…?”_

_She turned her head away from him._

_‘My old name is dead. It died with him. I don’t want it any more.’ She thought of the ravens which had gathered on the rooftop; how they had taken flight the evening the assassin had dragged her from her home and stuffed her into the waiting carriage. Harbingers of death, they had swirled around it; issuing their strident cries until she had put her hands over her ears to block them out._

_“Raven. My name is Raven.”_

_“A fitting name for such a dark lady.” He reached out a hand to brush the hair away from her neck and she flinched._

_“Easy, I won’t hurt you.”_

_Placing a finger under her chin, he pressed up gently, and she lifted it so he could see._

_“This looks like a rope burn.”_

_“Curtain tie,” she responded._

_“Jealous lover?”_

_“My husband.”_

_“Well he can’t hurt you anymore. He serves Sithis in the Void.” He pulled the wide cork from the jar’s lip, and began to spread the ointment._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven jerked awake and sat up abruptly, to find Mercer standing over her, his hands on his hips. She looked up at him in surprise. He seemed to be amused, a slight smile playing around his thin lips.

“Isn’t there something you should be doing?” he asked. She could hear the light menace behind the smile; just a hint.

She cast a look around the Cistern. There were still several men in bed, but Brynjolf was missing. Sapphire was at the cookpot on the far side of the circular chamber.

Before she could speak, he reached for her, twining his hand in her hair and turning her head back to him. His grasp was firm, but not painful. “I asked you a question.”

_You cannot frighten me. Sithis watches over me._

She met his eyes. “Yes. I should be getting my arse ready for the day. I overslept.”

He cocked his head slightly, the smile deepening at one corner of his mouth; the amusement growing stronger in his eyes. She could feel him rubbing a lock of her hair between thumb and forefinger.

_Yes. Touch the web, Mercer._

Then his hand left her hair and he lowered it to run his fingers slowly down the center of her back, feeling the black silk tunic she’d worn to sleep in. She felt a shiver of pleasure, oddly mixed with revulsion. 

“Hammerfell silk. Now how did you manage to acquire that, I wonder.”

Since it wasn’t a question, she didn’t answer him. She just watched his face, waiting.

He turned away from her abruptly. “Get going.” Then he stalked back to his desk.

She rolled to her feet, gathered up her armor and pouch, and headed for the privy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sapphire was still near the cookpot when Raven came over to see what there was to eat. She had one hip cocked on the table and was spooning something into her mouth. Raven picked a bowl from the shelf and they exchanged glances. Then Raven turned to the pot to ladle some gruel into her bowl. She joined Sapphire at the table and the woman pushed the pot of honey toward her.

“Thanks. Say, throw something at me if I don’t get up when you do, will you?”

Sapphire looked at her over her bowl. “I’ll try to remember. What did he say? I saw him grab you by the hair.”

“Just for me to get going.”

“Must’ve been more than that. He was standing over you for a long time.”

Raven evaded her. “How long before I woke?”

“Awhile. Like he was...planning something.”

“Well I hope he doesn’t do it every morning.”

“What are you two lovely ladies whispering about?” Raven turned her head to see one of the other thieves stretching and yawning his way over to them.

“None of your business, Viper,” Sapphire retorted with some heat.

“Now is that any way to talk to a handsome man like myself?” He leaned over the cookpot. “Gods. Gruel again?”

“Viper, the Fleet. The only man ever to name himself after his bedroom prowess.”

Raven snorted gruel up her nose and reached for a rag, trying not to laugh or choke herself.

“Stupid cow,” growled Viper. He reached between them for the honey dipper. Raven leaned away to give him room and Viper whispered to her, loudly enough for Sapphire to hear.

“She’s secretly in love with me.”

“Keep talking like that, Viper, and one of these days you’re going to turn up missing.”

Viper ignored her. “But now that you’re here, she’ll _never_ have me.”

Raven scooped up the last spoonful, stuffed it into her mouth and tossed the bowl and spoon into the wash bucket. “I gotta go.” She hurried away, headed toward the Flagon door.

_I’m starting to like these people. That can’t be good._


	9. Through the Ropes

Brynjolf led Raven back through the Cistern toward the training room which Sapphire had shown her the night before. As they passed Mercer’s desk, he glanced up, and Raven offered him a small nod in greeting. Face impassive, he did not respond, but his eyes briefly moved over her before returning to his work.

_I’ve got to figure out how to get inside his head._

A tall, well muscled thief mangled a dummy with a blunted sword as they walked in. He turned and ran an appraising eye over her before returning to his business. Grouped on the floor to the right were a collection of locked chests. Brynjolf walked over to a cupboard on the far wall and retrieved some tools from the top drawer. He held them out to her and she crossed the room to accept them; lockpicks and a tension wrench.

He gestured to the chests. “Open them.”

She walked over and sat down on the floor in front of the first chest she came to, and noticed that the Guild’s Second turned over an hourglass as she did.

_Don’t pay attention to the sands, Raven. That’s only to mark your progress. Concentrate on the lock. Feel the wards. Make the pick an extension of your fingers. You can’t very well kill your prey if you can’t reach him._

She closed her eyes and went to work, blocking everything else from her mind. Nothing existed except her hands, the tools, and the lock. When she felt the final ward click and the lock pop open, she moved to the next. Then came the final chest, saved for last. She recognized the lock as an expensive model and could tell that it had the least use. She took a cleansing breath and reached in to feel the wards, the key pins, the driver pins, explore the hull...and finally made her choices, applying just the right amount of tension here, pulling with just the right amount of force there, until the lock finally responded with a loud pop.

She opened her eyes and sighed, then straightened her back and rolled her shoulders. A glance at the glass showed there were still more than half the sands remaining. She gathered the picks and wrench and walked over to return them to Brynjolf; only then noticing his raised eyebrows and surprised look.

“Not one of them broken, and you did it in record time, lass. I’m impressed. That last one gives most new recruits fits.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Lockpicking I find easy. Not so much pickpocketing.”

“Then we’ll try that next.” He pulled a ring from his finger and dropped it into a pocket. “We’ll start off simple. Approach me from behind and just try to retrieve it without me noticing.”

She backed off about ten feet and he faced away from her. The other thief had ceased his abuse of the dummy to watch. She ignored him, sliding forward on cat-like feet as if she were going to slit the Second’s throat. That part was easy. As soon as her fingers touched his pocket, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully.

“Caught,” he said. She yelped in pain; surprised that her failure resulted in punishment.

“You did well on the approach,” he continued, releasing her wrist. “I never heard you. But as soon as you touched the pocket I felt it. Try again.”

The second time was no better. Nor the third, and the pain in her wrist was increasing. Her frustration was mounting and the other thief wasn’t making it any better. He was grinning at her. She suppressed the urge to send her dagger into his eye. She managed to make it halfway into the pocket on the fourth try. Finally, after about a dozen attempts, with her wrist aching, she was able to retrieve the ring undetected. She felt an elation completely out proportion with the deed performed.

“I’ve seen worse,” Brynjolf commented as she returned his ring. “We’ll continue that at a later time. I can see you’ll need a lot of practice. I might pair you with Vex. She’s our best.

“So...I already know you’re good with extortion. A natural talent there; not much to improve. And from the way you made that coin purse disappear from my counter, I know you’re good with sleight of hand. That can be paired with pickpocketing, along with distraction. We’ll polish that with the pickpocket training.”

“Don’t forget seduction,” the other thief contributed with a grin.

Raven glared at him and Brynjolf snapped. “Mind your own business, Thrynn.”

Thrynn stopped grinning. But he didn’t stop watching.

“So we’ll see how good you are with a dagger.”

“Now? My wrist is killing me.”

His attitude changed abruptly; a cold, hard light now shining in his eyes. “Would you like me to wrap it up in cotton batting for you, lass? Or did you think you’d always be at the top of your game when you had to defend yourself?”

Raven wiped all emotion from her face.

_Don’t let your guard down, Jawa’kra._

She began to unbuckle her jacket. It was too stiff to move in. Too new. The breeches were older, softer, they would be fine; but the jacket would hamper her movements, and she intended on making Brynjolf eat those words. She tossed the jacket aside.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, lass.”

“You won’t be able to touch me, let alone cut me.”

He opened his mouth, the hard light changing to surprise in his eyes. “Let’s put that to the test, then, shall we lass?” He turned away from her to retrieve a couple of blunted daggers from a rack in the corner.

She stretched, limbering her muscles while she waited. He tossed one dagger at her and she caught it deftly in her left hand, then flipped it to her right and spun it, trying its weight, testing the balance; never taking her eyes off the Second as she reversed the weapon with the blade facing back toward her elbow. He stepped forward without warning and slashed at her unprotected belly.

She bowed in the center, bringing her arms forward. He caught nothing but the flaxen tunic; but her dagger grazed across his cheek. She spun away from him.

“One,” she counted. She circled him slowly, knees bent with her right leg forward, placing her feet carefully, gracefully; sure footed as a sabrecat. She raised the dagger in high guard position, right arm lifted and left arm up for defense, elbow forward.

_You are my prey. You will not escape. Sithis guides my blade._

His eyes narrowed and he reversed his blade as well, matching her stance. He turned with her, watching for an opening. He moved forward, slamming the hard stone with his right boot, seeking to distract her as he brought his blade down toward her throat, aiming for the jugular.

She turned sideways and his blade missed her entirely. As his arm came down, she drove her blade hard into it at the elbow. Had it not been blunted she would have ripped through the ligaments. She spun again, very close to his body; driving her elbow into his kidney as her back rolled against him, with a force that surprised him. He grunted in pain.

“Two.”

He whirled to face her, trying to catch her before she could get set again, and slashed at the sore wrist which held the blade. She lowered her arm as he came, twining her wrist with his, then directed his arm forward across his center, using her left hand to grab his right pauldron and turn his upper body. Her right arm completed the circle and she jabbed him in the back of his right shoulder. “Three!” she shouted.

Now off balance, he stumbled. She pushed him forward, bringing her right leg forward to trip him. He measured his length on the floor and she leaped to his back, lifting her blade and driving it down into his spine. “Four!”

He grunted again. She grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back, then drew the blunted blade lightly across his throat.

“Dead.”

She rose to her feet, panting lightly, and backed off a couple of paces. Thrynn stared at her; something like admiration in his eyes; and she heard a slow clapping sound from the doorway. She turned her head to see Mercer, wearing an expression she could not decipher, applauding languidly. She could not tell if he was mocking her or truly impressed.

She turned her head back to Brynjolf as he picked himself up off the floor. She knew he had to be furious and embarrassed and was positive that Mercer’s presence made it worse. She wanted to be ready in case he tried anything.

“I’d say you need some more practice, Brynjolf,” said Mercer, with dry sarcasm. “Maybe you should ask her to teach you.” Then he turned and walked away.

Brynjolf’s face was etched in hard ebony. He dropped the dagger to the floor.

“Thrynn, see how she does with a sword.” He strode from the room, his anger evident in every movement.

Raven faced Thrynn, taking his measure. He wore his brown hair to the shoulder, pulled back from his face. Under each eye were two horizontal bars of red war paint. His armor, like Sapphire’s, was sleeveless, cut slightly different in the chest from the armor she’d been given. The muscled arms which extended from the armless shoulders were massive; solid. She knew she’d never match him for strength. Brynjolf was punishing her. Again.

Thrynn stood with one hip cocked, resting his hands on the hilt of the sword which he had placed point down on the stone floor. He gave her a sly smile and slowly shook his head.

“Oh...you have pissed him _off_, dark eyes. Don’t get me wrong, it was good to see him get taken down a notch, but I’d stay out of his way till he cools off.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Anytime. What I can’t figure though, is Mercer. I’ve _never_ seen him come to watch anyone train.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Really.”

“Yup. He must have taken a _very_ special interest in you…” He looked her over again, “not that I blame him.”

_Maybe I AM getting inside his head._

“You don’t look like a thief,” she said.

“That’s because I’m not. I'm the heavy hitter around here. When someone needs pushing around, I'm the one they send in. I leave all that sneaking nonsense to everyone else; believe me, when I'm coming for you... you'll know it." He had picked up his sword and walked toward her as he spoke. Now he looked down at her, considering.

“So. You think you can take me with one of these?” He indicated the sword.

“No. You’d kill me in two strokes. I can’t match your strength, especially with my wrist hurting like it is. With a blade that fits my size and an arm that’s not sore, I could possibly defend myself for a while, but eventually you would wear me down.”

He nodded. “Good. At least you’ve got some sense. So we’ll test your technique instead. C’mere.” He walked over to the cupboard and she followed. He withdrew a strip of leather about three inches wide by two feet long from the top drawer and held it up. “This should do. Take off your gauntlet and give me your arm.”

She did as she was told and he wrapped the leather snugly around her wrist, all the way up to the middle of her forearm; tight enough to support, but not enough to restrict circulation.

“Hold that in place,” he said. She placed two fingers on the end of it to keep it tight. Then he brought out a thinner strap and wound it around the wide one, tying it off near her fingers. “How’s that feel?”

She flexed her hand. “Better. Thanks.”

He nodded. “Go put your jacket back on.”

She walked over to pick it up and buckled herself back into it. He retrieved a lighter sword from the weapons rack and handed it to her. She tried the weight and balance and gave it a couple of experimental swings while he lifted his own sword.

“Alright, show me what you can do. I’ll go easy.”

Taking a deep breath, she moved into middle guard position, cursing Astrid for getting her into this mess.


	10. The Evil that Men Do

_“Thorach Frey, you are hereby charged with high treason. You are ordered to relinquish arms and come with us.”_

_“This is a farce. I’ve done nothing wrong.”_

_“You’ll have your chance to state your case at the trial, Counselman. Now will you come quietly, or shall we drag you in chains?”_

_Thorach fumed. He had little choice. If he resisted, his family would be put at risk. He could see his wife, her face painted in fear and horror, standing with his children; surrounded by soldiers; gathered up like so much cattle. Mercer, scarcely out of his teens, stood by her, fists clenching and unclenching in rage._

_“I will come.”_

_“No! Father, you can’t! This isn’t right!” The soldiers held the younger Frey back as he struggled to reach his sire._

_“Mercer!” Thorach’s voice cracked like a whip across the room. “Take care of your mother!” The soldiers closed around him and prodded him across the hall to the doors._

_“Elana!” He called to his wife, “Remember the raven!”_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer jolted awake. He’d fallen asleep in his chair in front of the fire. He rubbed a hand across his face and looked around. The light from the windows was still strong; he’d only dozed off for a short time--unusual for him. Usually he came home for lunch, relaxed for a bit and then returned to the Guild. He could not remember ever having dozed off like that. And to dream...what had triggered that particular memory?

He rose, scowling, and walked into the parlor, his eyes scanning every shelf, every shadow, as if he expected to find the reason for the ancient echo there. Only his treasures rested on the shelves; the shadows empty.

His mother had packed them into the family’s carriage that very night, with little explanation other than they must leave before the soldiers returned. He had felt his world crumbling around him. Everything he knew, everything that was to be his, was left behind. Only his anger persisted.

The one loyal servant who remained had flogged the horses until they were ready to drop from exhaustion, following the road north from Wayrest to the coastal city of Farrun; his uncle’s home. But they were stopped at Dunlain, and he had watched as his mother and four siblings had been put to the sword. He managed to escape, just barely. He made his path west, toward Skyrim, reasoning that he would not be expected to go there. He traveled by night and slept by day, stealing what he could to survive and suffering hardships he had never even dreamed of. He had finally arrived in Markarth, starving, ragged; his faith in tatters; his soul burning with a hatred born of betrayal: by the gods, by his people, and by his own expectations.

He never learned the meaning of his father’s last words to his mother. He never knew what was meant by the raven.

Irritated and on edge, he turned and trotted down the stairs to his basement storeroom, where he pulled the jar of moon sugar from the shelf and withdrew a cube. He popped it into his mouth and crunched, ignoring the bitter aftertaste of the mild drug in its pure form. Returning the jar to its resting place, he ascended the stairs, exited the manor from the rear door and returned to the Guild. By the time he arrived, his ghosts had faded back into dim memory.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven limped into the Cistern, holding her wrist. Thrynn’s idea of “going easy” had still been rough and she’d taken a hard fall on her right hip trying to avoid one of his stronger blows. Her shoulders, jarred by her landing on the stone platform the day before, now reminded her of their abuse, and her skinned knee stung beneath her leathers. Her throat still ached from Dirge’s throttling.

She glanced at Mercer’s desk and was relieved not to see him there. She was in no mood to deal with him and did not wish him to see her like this. Clumsily she opened her chest, gasping at the pain the simple act of twisting the key in the lock caused her wrist. She dug in her pack and drew out the vial with the pain relieving potion and a jar of salve for her knee. She drank from the bottle, perhaps a bit too much; replaced it in the pack and locked the chest; then went to the privy to tend to the knee.

Gods, how she wanted a hot bath. The cold water available here would only make the pain worse. She decided that as soon as she was released for the day, she would return to the Inn and pay for another hot bath there. She might even spend the night. It would be nice to sleep without the sounds of snoring and the rushing water which flowed through the Cistern.

The potion had begun to take effect by the time she returned to the Cistern, dulling the pain. She crossed the water over one of the bridges toward the cooking area in a pleasant haze. A few of the thieves had gathered there, but Sapphire was not in sight. The only two she knew were Thrynn and Viper.

A short, stocky man was stirring the pot. He looked up and nodded at her as she approached. She felt a sense of familiarity--his aquiline nose and angular jaw reminded her of the men of her homeland. She offered him a smile and he returned it easily, straightening to offer her a hand. She gripped his forearm.

“Nice to finally meet you. Name’s Rune.”

“And this,” said Viper as he stepped over and slid an arm around her waist before she could respond to Rune’s greeting, “is the lovely Raven.” She concluded that Sapphire must have told him her name. He pulled her in close, his hand sliding up under her jacket and pressing against her flat stomach.

The pleasant feeling from the potion left her with the rush of anger. She stiffened.

“Remove your arm, Viper, before I remove it for you.”

“Oh now...no need to be so rude. We’re all friends here.” He waved expansively with his bottle of mead. From his breath and the way he wobbled, he had obviously had too much; and the day was barely half over. She stomped his instep.

“Ow!” He released her and staggered back, to the amusement of the other thieves. “Stupid cow,” he growled, “you don’t know what you’re missing.”

She turned to face him. “I’ve been told that we’re not allowed to kill in the Guild. But cutting out a man’s tongue will not kill him.”

“Ooooh, a fiery lass. I like a challenge.”

Thrynn spoke up then. “Viper. Drop it. You don’t want to mess with this one.”

Viper seemed to sober some and straightened up, glaring at Thrynn. “You stay out of it. This is between me and her.”

“Is there a problem, lads?”

Raven glanced over her shoulder to see Brynjolf standing behind her. He did not look at her, but scanned the group of men menacingly. She turned her head back to them. All the thieves looked at Viper.

“I was just introducing myself,” he said innocently.

“Good.” Brynjolf took Raven by the shoulder and turned her around to face him. “If you’re through causing trouble, then come with me.”

Her mouth dropped open at the unjustness of the accusation. He ignored her reaction; then turned away and walked toward a pair of archery targets. She cast a scathing glare at Viper and followed, her stomach rumbling with hunger.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thrynn watched as they walked away, then turned his attention back to Viper. He advanced on the smaller man, lowering his rough voice so no one else could hear. “Bother her again you little twat, and I’m gonna break both your arms.” Then he stalked away, headed for the Flagon, leaving Viper blinking stupidly as if he couldn’t fathom what he’d done wrong.

Thrynn heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to find Cynric following him. The Breton thief motioned him on and did not speak until the door had closed behind them. Thrynn stopped and turned to him, waiting.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Cynric in low tones, “but did it seem to you that Brynjolf was a bit...hostile to the woman? That’s not his usual style. Normally he’d be trying to charm her into his bed.”

Thrynn frowned slightly. “He sparred with her this morning during training. Daggers. She had him down on the floor in three moves. If they’d been using real blades, he’d be dead now. Mercer was watching. She gelded him in front of the Guildmaster.”

Cynric cocked an eyebrow and snorted; the equivalent of raucous laughter for the taciturn thief. “How did she manage that? I’ve never seen him lose any fight, much less one with daggers.”

“I think he was caught off guard. She was lightning fast with her moves.”

“And Mercer was watching...that _is_ interesting. I’ve noticed him tracking her whenever she’s in the Cistern. That’s not like _him_ either. Granted though, she’s very easy on the eye,” he mused. “I’ve been in the Guild for a long time; joined right after Brynjolf. The last time I saw Mercer act this way was when Karliah was here.”

“Karliah? The one who killed the other Guildmaster?”

“Yeah, Gallus. Between you and me, the Guild was a lot better off when he was here.” He paused. “Karliah and Mercer worked together on a lot of jobs; seemed to get along just fine. Then one day...things changed. It was like she couldn’t stand to be around him. She started spending more time with Gallus. Whenever Mercer saw them together, he would walk the other way. At the time I figured he must have done something...something that pissed her off...and he was jealous of Gallus. But then Karliah killed Gallus, and Mercer came back cut to ribbons, barely alive. So I wondered then if maybe Mercer had found out something that Karliah didn’t want him to know instead.”

Thrynn grunted. “Why wouldn’t he have told the Guild? Exposed her?”

“Depends on what he found out. It might not have meant anything to the Guild--or maybe she had something on him as well.”

Cynric shrugged. “I’m just guessing. I was a lot younger then. There was a lot going on and I always preferred just watching rather than getting involved. All I cared about was making coin.

“I just find it intriguing that Mercer seems to have found someone to spark his interest after all these years. Might mean better days to come for the Guild. We sure need it.”


	11. Bird in the Hand

Mercer climbed down the ladder from the secret entrance just after Thrynn and Cynric left. The other thieves scattered, even Viper, whose instinct for survival apparently outweighed the mead he’d imbibed. The Guildmaster’s eyes briefly scanned the Cistern, looking for Raven. He spotted her as he turned right toward his desk, over in the archery practice area with the Bosmer thief. Brynjolf stood by watching them, arms crossed. Mercer joined him, sensing the man’s tension; amused by it.

The Bosmer was handing her a bow and a string. She inspected the string carefully, stretched it, then looped it around her neck and examined the bow.

“This is cracked.”

“Nonsense,” the elf responded.

She stepped toward him and pointed at the bow near the string notch. “Here. There’s a tiny split starting.”

He smiled, not bothering to look, obviously testing her. “Very good. I’m impressed. Most would miss that.” He indicated the rack behind them. "Pick one that suits you.”

“How has she performed so far?” Mercer asked, his eyes still on Raven. She was carefully removing an Elven bow from the rack to examine.

“She’s an expert picklock. Can’t fault her there. And she sneaks like a sabrecat. I can’t hear her move at all. But her pickpocketing skills are non-existent.” Brynjolf hesitated, as if gathering strength to say the next words. “You already saw how good she is with a blade.”

Mercer smiled. “Can’t stand the thought of a female taking you down, Brynjolf?”

His Second was quiet for so long he thought the man wasn’t going to answer. Finally he admitted, “It does rankle.”

Mercer waited. Brynjolf shifted his weight; then continued. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Thrynn about her skill with a sword.”

Raven had replaced the Elven bow and was now going through the hunting bows. She ignored the longbows.

“I’m not interested in her sword work. I think she’s good enough to start on some jobs. Send her to Delvin and Vex. I’ll work with her on pickpocketing as I can.”

Brynjolf regarded him with surprise. “You?”

“Do you doubt my abilities, Brynjolf?” Mercer’s voice had a slight edge to it.

“Not at all...it’s just...never mind.”

“By all means, Brynjolf, speak your mind.” The edge was gone, replaced by amusement.

“You’ve never offered to train a new recruit before.”

Mercer turned his full attention on Raven, who was now strapping an armguard to her left forearm and twisting her hair up into a knot. It seemed she had chosen one of the hunting bows.

“This is the first one I’ve seen who might be worth my time.”

He watched as the woman braced the lower limb of the bow at the inside of her boot. She placed the upper string loop on the top limb and the lower string loop on the nock. Pulling on the bow with one hand and bending the bow with the other, she put the bowstring in place. She did it so quickly and with such grace that he felt a shock of recognition.

_SHE used to do it like that._

The Bosmer watched her. “Why not the Elven bow?” he asked.

“It’s clearly the better bow,” she responded. “But it’s also heavier and would be harder to pull.” She lifted her right wrist, which Mercer could see was wrapped in leather. “My wrist is sore as a boil right now and I wouldn’t be able to make full extension. Or if I did, I’d have no control.”

Mercer’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Brynjolf. “Just how did she hurt her wrist?”

The man flushed. “I find that a little pain works well as incentive when teaching pickpocketing.”

Mercer turned to his Second, feeling his anger rise, and growled at him in a low voice. “You do what you want with the others, Brynjolf, but this one is_ mine_. If she’s hurt again, by any_one_, by any_thing_, I’m holding you responsible. Do I make myself clear?”

Brynjolf’s face turned as red as his hair. He nodded. “Quite clear, Mercer.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

The Guild Second’s lips tightened; then he turned to walk quickly away.

Mercer returned his attention to Raven. The Bosmer was now handing her a quiver full of steel arrows and taking the bow to hold while she strung the quiver across her back. She took back the bow.

“Where do you want me?” she asked.

“Let’s start as far back as you can get.”

Raven walked to the wall and then turned to look at the target. She angled her body to face where Mercer stood, and he saw her slight start as she realized that he was there, watching her. Bracing her feet wide, she drew an arrow from the quiver, placed it on the arrow rest near the fletching and held it in place in the center of the serving with the first two fingers of her right hand. She lifted her left arm, holding the bow firmly at the grip, and turned her head toward the target, her body now perpendicular to it. With her arm straight, she drew and let fly.

The arrow impacted with a thwack into the third ring. She nocked another arrow and drew again, adjusted her aim and let fly once more. Now it went into the second ring. Once again she nocked, adjusted, let fly, and the arrow chunked dead center into the bullseye. Then she followed with several arrows in quick succession, until no more would fit into the eye.

Mercer felt satisfied, but did not smile.

“Very good,” said the Bosmer. “Now let’s see how well you do with a bird.”

“In here? I could hit someone.”

The Bosmer didn’t respond. He reached into a bucket resting on a nearby table and withdrew a small leather bag, like a coin purse, but with a couple of feathers attached to it. He tossed it high into the air over the water.

Raven nocked, tracked and shot, piercing the bag and sending it flying toward the opposite wall of the Cistern. Viper was the only one there and he ducked and ran for cover.

“On second thought,” she said, “throw some more over there. I might get lucky.”

The Bosmer chuckled and Mercer frowned, wondering what the man had done to incur her wrath. He was well aware of Viper’s attempts to lure Sapphire into his bed. If the bastard was now transferring his attention to Raven, he would have to take matters into his own hands.

He watched as she shot several more, missing only once. She paused after the last one and shook her wrist, grimacing in pain.

He walked toward them. “That’s enough for now…”

“Niruin,” supplied the Bosmer. Mercer nodded curtly, then forgot him and turned to Raven.

“Let me see that wrist.”

She handed the bow off to Niruin; then pulled at the knot which held the leather strip in place and unwound it from her arm. Mercer took hold of the wider leather strap and pulled it free.

Her eyes fastened on his face as he took hold of her hand and lifted it to inspect her wrist. The purple marks left by Brynjolf’s fingers digging into her flesh were clearly visible. The anger he’d felt before returned. His lips tightened and he scowled.

She dropped her eyes, her face flushing. “I don’t do so well at pickpocketing,” she said. “But I’ll work hard on it, I promise.”

He released her. “I’ll be taking over your training in that area.”

Her eyes came back up to his face again. She gazed frankly at him. “Will you punish me, like he did, when I fail?”

The unidentified feeling which had assaulted him when he had seen his Second put an arm around her the first day returned in full force. He had a name for it now. It was the same feeling he’d experienced whenever he saw Gallus with _her._ Jealousy. He’d never thought to feel that way again about any woman. The thought that he had touched her, had exerted control over her, had injured her; filled him with such jealous rage he wanted to kill the man. She belonged to _him_, not Brynjolf. It was _his_ right to decide her fate.

“I don’t like my treasures damaged.”

She lifted an eyebrow, then moved closer, slowly, cautiously. She placed a hand on his chest, watching his face. “Is that what I am to you? A treasure? A gem to place in your collection?”

He took her hand and moved it down, then around behind her back, pulling her tight against him and pushing her arm up just enough, until her face told him he was beginning to hurt her. He pressed his lips against her ear. “You are whatever I say you are.”

Then he released her, and she stumbled back a step. “Go see Brynjolf. He’ll give you your next instructions.”

She stared at him for a moment, uncertainty in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Yes, Mercer.”

He watched her as she walked around the water, headed for the Flagon door. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to see the Bosmer staring.

“What the fuck are you looking at? Don’t you have something to do?”

The Elf decided he did indeed have much to do.


	12. Demons

_Hearing the loud footsteps from across the room, she lifted her head and mouthed “out” to her maidservant. The girl rose and fled through the dining room doors as if all Oblivion were after her. Becca stood and turned, trembling. Her husband’s face was a mask of rage. She knew better than to run, for that would make it so much worse. She turned her eyes down, hoping that this time would not be so bad. Futile as that hope was, it was all that kept her from leaping from an upper window._

_He closed the last few feet between them and struck her; backhanding her across the face with such force that she was driven sideways against the wall. She slammed against it and slid to the floor, gasping in shock and pain; tasting blood. Terror tightened her chest, making it hard to breathe. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. He’d never marked her face before._

_He knows!_

_“It was you! You betrayed me to the Council! You were the only one who could possibly have known!” He kicked her savagely in the ribs and she cried out in agony, struggling to retrieve the breath the blow had driven from her body. _ _He reached down and dragged her to her feet by her hair._

_“Listening at keyholes! Always sneaking about! How! How did you get word to them?!” He shook her violently. “I have forbidden you to leave the estate; how did you manage it!?”_

_Becca could not have answered if she’d wanted to. She could barely breathe, let alone speak. All she could do was ride the tempest._

_His eyes narrowed. “The banquet! You danced with Lord Motierre! I should never have brought you. I should have locked you in your cage like the bitch that you are!” He shoved her away and she fell to the floor again, holding her ribs and gasping for breath._

_He snarled at her. “You’ll trouble me no more, Becca.” He reached for the curtains and pulled one of the ties loose; wrapping an end around each hand. She struggled to rise, but he shoved her back down and straddled her, wrapping the tie around her throat and drawing it tight. She clawed weakly at his face, desperate to free herself, her vision dimming as he drew the cord tighter._

_Then above him appeared a shadow. The tension in the cord eased and she felt her husband’s full weight as he collapsed on top of her, now issuing his own scream of pain. The weight left her and she rolled to her side, fighting for breath, watching as a masked figure clad in dark, skin tight leathers leaned over the man who had made her existence a living nightmare for the past two years. The figure lifted a dark blade, which gleamed with enchantment._

_“The Council sends their regards, Lord Avienus.” The blade slashed across her husband’s throat. His blood sprayed across her; baptizing her with new life. Fresh hope. She watched with satisfaction as he choked on his own blood, and relished the sight of the light leaving his eyes. She laughed weakly in reaction and relief._

_Then the assassin turned to her. She felt a moment of panic, thinking he would end her also. But he only reached down to yank her to her feet and push her toward the doors leading outside. He dragged her down the steps of the wide porch and toward a waiting carriage._

_She finally found her voice. “Where are you taking me?” she cried._

_He answered in a low, coarse voice. “You have proven yourself loyal to the throne. It is no longer safe for you to remain in Cyrodiil, so Lord Motierre has arranged for you to be taken to a place of refuge. The driver has been paid well, and he will see you there. When you meet with the Black Door, speak the words, ‘Silence, my brother’._

_With that cryptic statement, he shoved her inside the carriage and slammed the door. The driver shook the reins, cracked his whip, and the horses leaped forward into the coming dusk._

  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  
Raven let the door close behind her and then leaned against it, taking a deep, cleansing breath. She felt weak, depleted, and not just because of the long day and her empty stomach. Mercer had made his first move, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for it.

She heard footsteps coming her way from the Flagon, and quickly ducked into the side room which led off from the tunnel she was in. She shut the door quietly and let the bar down. Then she collapsed at the single table in the room.

Mercer’s words, so similar to the words her husband had spoken soon after their marriage, had brought with them a flood of memories; demons she’d thought destroyed along with him.

_You’re mine now. You’ll do as I say. You’ll be who I want you to be._

How quickly she had learned the consequences of disobedience. She became a prisoner in her own home, unable to leave unless in his company; flaunted like a fine gem in his circlet.

She shuddered.

_You are what I say you are._

As far as Mercer was concerned, he owned her now. She was clear about that. How much she would suffer for it, she did not know. Only his death would release her. It would be so simple to slip her blade between his ribs; to poison his mead; to watch him writhe on the stones in the agony of his death throes; but Astrid had forbidden direct action. Now more than ever she needed information. She needed an informer, an ally. But who?

Who knew him best? It had to be Brynjolf—and she’d royally pissed him off. Somehow, she must get back on the man’s good side.

She straightened in the chair, shoving her demons back into their crypt. Her husband rotted in his tomb, and by Sithis, she would see Mercer rot as well.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven approached the table where Brynjolf sat in the Flagon and placed the bottle of Black-Briar mead she’d just purchased from Vekel softly down in front of him. He looked up at her with the air of a man who believed that his day could not possibly get any worse and suddenly just did.

_Oh, this is not going to be easy._

She gave him her most winsome smile. “May I join you?”

He let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to the chair she stood next to. “Of course. At this point, what have I got to lose?”

She sat down, setting her tea and plate of long overdue food in front of her. “I want to apologize,” she said contritely. “I did not intend for you to lose face in front of Mercer. I didn’t even know he was there.”

“And if you had known, what would you have done?”

She looked down at her cup. “I would...probably have still kicked your arse.”

He let out a single sharp bark of laughter. “Then what good is your apology?”

She met his eyes. “I only want you to know that I didn’t mean you any harm. It was my understanding that you wanted to test my abilities. To have done less than my best would not have given you a true sense of what I was capable of.”

“Horker shit. You were pissed because of this.” He tapped her wrist.

“Yes. I was. How does that change the fact that you wanted to see what I could do? If you had tested my skill with the blade before you tested me on pickpocketing, the outcome would have been the same.”

_Grow up, you big baby. You’ve still got your balls._

He stared at her, fuming. His anger seemed out of proportion with the actual deed. But she didn’t know him well enough to know whether or not this was normal for him — or whether there was something else going on. Mercer was not happy about her wrist and had gone so far as to take over her training; which in fact was why she had discovered he now considered her to be his property. Had he disciplined Brynjolf in some way? Threatened him?

_I must reach this man._

It was a huge risk, but she had to take it. She leaned forward earnestly and said gently, “I don’t think you’re really mad at _me_, Brynjolf. You’re man enough to live past me beating you in a practice duel. Something else is bothering you, isn’t it?”

It was as if she’d stuck a pin in a soap bubble. He deflated; the angry look leaving his face, to be replaced by something akin to misery. He looked away from her.

_Well, if that didn’t hit the mark, I don’t know what would._

“Tell me.”

“Mind your own business.”

She kept her voice low and soft as she spoke. “Something happened that has upset you so much that you’re angry with me. So obviously it has something to do with me. That makes it my business.”

He turned his head back to her, the anger returning. “Leave off, Raven.”

She heard the warning in his voice, but she didn’t have any other option. She lowered her voice further, so no one could hear.

“I can’t leave off, Brynjolf. You dragged me into this. You wanted me here. Mercer has made it clear to me that he now considers me his. What do you think he’d do if I just left and never came back? I get the feeling he doesn’t let go of things he wants easily. You think he’d just...let me go?”

She saw the flash of fear in his eyes; just for a split second, before he wiped all expression from his face. He sat silent, staring at her. Finally he spoke. “So he told you.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed a hand across his face and looked away.

“Please, Brynjolf. Don’t turn me away. I need your help,” she pleaded. There was no need to conjure up tears. They came of their own free will, filling her eyes.

He glanced around to see if anyone was listening in, then turned his head back to her, speaking so quietly she had to strain to hear. “If you left, he’d come after you…and I shudder to think what he’d do to you when he found you; for he _would_ find you.”

“My gods, Brynjolf! What am I going to do?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, lass. But whatever you do, don’t piss him off. Play along. We’ll think of _something_.”

“I don’t know if I can…what if he…” she left the rest unspoken.

The fear returned to his eyes, and she wondered just how much Brynjolf knew about Mercer’s habits. The distress she could read on his face scared her more than what her imagination could conjure.

“Lass, you must. There’s no other way.”

She looked down at her food, her appetite gone.

_Well, he can’t hurt you anymore. He serves Sithis in the Void._

_Oh Nazir! If only that were true!_


	13. Breadcrumbs

_Vex is an Imperial, like you. She’s the Guild’s Third. Devoted to it and not one to cross. She’s an excellent picklock and is as deadly with a blade as you are, my love. Tall, lean, blonde, hazel eyes and a permanent scowl. You’ll find it a challenge to earn her confidence. She’s quick to pounce on any weakness, so don’t back down when she gets in your face — and she will._

“I think it best that we not be seen together very much lass,” Brynjolf said softly. “Go see Vex and Delvin when you’ve finished your meal.” He picked up the mead and moved to the bar. She understood the reasoning, but she felt abandoned nonetheless. She forced herself to eat her now cold food, and drank the tepid tea. Both of them stirred sourly in her stomach.

She approached Vex first. The woman looked her up and down as if examining a beggar on the street; the sneer on her face a silent insult. She began speaking before Raven had a chance to open her mouth.

“Before we begin, I want to make two things perfectly clear. One, I’m the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild has, so if you think you’re here to replace me, you’re dead wrong. Two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say, no questions, no excuses.”

Raven returned Vex’s glare impassively. “Back off,” she said. “I know the drill.”

Vex cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Now...you I like. I’ve been getting sick of the pushovers that walk in here. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

_That’s a matter for debate._

“Now,” she continued, “it’s time to get your feet wet and I don’t want to waste a lot of time talking about anything but business.”

Raven waited, her face still impassive. Vex looked almost uncomfortable.

“Look, I’m not going to sugar coat it for you. We’re in a bad way down here.”

Raven remembered Haelga’s little revelation in the Bunkhouse._ “Your outfit can’t even fend for itself.”_

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Who knows? Old Delvin thinks it’s some kind of curse. I think he’s crazy. I say it’s just plain old bad luck. Ever since the Guild's luck turned sour, we haven't had a coin to our name. And when the gold dried up, that's when people started to leave. We had the best of everything down here... the Ratway was a damn palace. The Flagon was once a city beneath a city. We had our own smith, our own alchemist... you name it. If we can make a name for ourselves in Skyrim once again, I can almost promise you those merchants would return. Best of all, we'd have enough gold to throw around so we could start living in the lap of luxury again."

Raven tried to visualize the dank pits of the Flagon and the Cistern resembling a palace. Her mind could not conjure up the image. “So when did things change for the worse?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get out there and start making a name for us. Make people start fearing us like they did in the old days.”

_I think it matters very much. And what about the other deadbeats lazing around here? Why aren’t they working to make the Guild a name? I think I’m missing some piece of the puzzle here. And I bet Mercer has that piece._

“So, what do you want me to do?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_“Now we come to Delvin Mallory…” said Nazir. “Breton thief, fence...and former member of our dysfunctional little family.”_

_Raven sat up straight, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. “Really. No one’s ever mentioned that little tidbit before.”_

_“Well, it’s not something Astrid likes bandied about. She and Delvin were rather close. Of course this was before she married Arnbjorn.”_

_“How did he come to join the Guild? What made him leave?”_

_“Delvin was originally a thief. He came to us after he accidentally killed someone in a failed robbery. The former Guildmaster thought enough of him to arrange for him to hide out with us until the authorities stopped searching for him. So it was always understood that he would be leaving...but I think there was more to it than that. I was never quite sure of the details. It happened after the last Listener died. I think both he and Astrid thought that one of them should be the next Listener. They quarreled. Next thing I knew, he was packing his things.”_

_“And the Night Mother never did appoint a new Listener.”_

_“No. After her crypt in Cheydinhal was desecrated and the last Listener there was killed, her voice fell silent. The Brotherhood in other parts of Tamriel was all but destroyed by that time in the conflicts during and after the Great War. Only a few scattered members remained. That’s what amazes me so about your rescue, Jawa’kra — that the Elder Council managed to find at least one surviving member.” He sighed. “In any event, our decline also began then. Astrid has carried us forward by sheer will power; which is why it is so important that you succeed. We need the information the Guild can provide.”_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Delvin set aside his quill, closed his ledger and picked up his bottle of mead as Raven slid into the chair opposite him at the round table which was his base of operations in the Flagon. He took a pull on the bottle and then belched, while looking her over. He wasn’t exactly leering, but she could tell he was enjoying the view.

Raven winced. _Well he’s a charmer._

“Let me guess,” he said. “Brynjolf just plucked you up off the street and plopped you down in the thick of things without telling you which way was up. Am I right?”

She smiled slightly, pondering which answer would most endear her to the old fence.

“Pretty much. I suppose I could use some advice.”

She’d made the right choice. He gave her a wide, pleased smile. “You see, that kind of attitude comes from a person who wants to get rich, and stay alive long enough to enjoy it. We’re gonna get along nicely.” He put down his bottle and leaned forward, folding his hands on the tabletop. “So, if you've got the nerve, I've got plenty of extra jobs to help get the Guild back on its feet."

“Vex said something about that, too. What’s been going on?” Maybe Delvin would be more forthcoming.

He sighed. "Look around you. The Flagon, the Guild... it's all fallin' apart. A few decades ago, this place was as busy as the Imperial City. Now, you're lucky if you don't trip over a skeever instead."

“Why do you think that is? Vex called it bad luck.”

"Look, I know the others think I'm a bit daft for sayin' stuff like this, but I'm gonna give it to you straight. Somethin' out there is piss-drunk mad at us. I don't know who or what it is, but it's beyond just you and me. We've been cursed."

As strong as her belief in Sithis was, Raven felt it was rare for any divine to actually take a hand in man’s fate. She decided to play along anyway. “So what can we do about it?”

"I'll tell you what we do. We spit in that curse's face and turn things around down here. Put things back the way they were. That's where you come in. I've got plenty of work available that could guide us down the road to recovery. All you need to do is ask and we can both come out of this smellin' like a rose."

“You mean small jobs.”

He nodded. “Ya see, years ago, the Guild used to have a foothold in every major city in Skyrim. You wouldn't dare even lift an apple without checkin' with us. When things started goin' downhill around here, it became difficult to keep it all together. We lost fences, influential contacts, and coin. It wasn't long before we lost what we depend on to survive — respect. By doin' these extra jobs and puttin' some fear into the people, we can take back the cities and start bein' taken seriously again."

“How many years ago did the Guild start to decline?”

“Lemme see...somming like twenty, twenty five.”

_Finally, something definite!_

“So how will doing small jobs help us? It seems like a drop in the bucket.”

He gave her an exasperated look, as if she were being exceedingly dense. “Look, thanks to Maven Black-Briar, we still have some pull in Riften. But get arrested in Whiterun and you'll be tossed right into the prisons. If we can gain the confidence of someone very influential who lives there by doing a unique job for them, we'd be able to have some leverage there too. The only way we can get that special job is by doin' smaller ones in those cities until we catch their ear. Then they'll contact me and we're off."

“Ah. Now I understand. Alright. What needs doing?”

Delvin grinned and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Lemme give you the details.”

_Sithis help me. How many does he have?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Cistern was quiet now — or at least as quiet as it ever was, with the water cascading from the shafts near the ceiling, flowing into the reservoir and draining from some unknown point to go wherever the tunnels led it. Viper lay face down on his bed sleeping off the surplus of mead he’d drunk. None of the other thieves was in evidence, and Raven wondered if they’d finally taken off on jobs of their own. To her vast relief, Mercer was also gone from his usual spot at the desk. She walked past her bed and down the tunnel leading to the privy.

Her mind was buzzing with information on the jobs she’d been assigned, trying to commit it all to memory. Certainly she couldn’t write it down. If she were caught, any notes could be used as evidence against her.

Then there was her more immediate goal.

_What happened twenty or twenty five years ago that caused the Guild’s decline? The Listener died about that time, Delvin left and the Brotherhood began its own slide down. Are those events related in some way? And how can I dig that information out of Brynjolf without him becoming suspicious?_

The pain was back and she was looking forward to the hot bath she’d promised herself. She was also rather annoyed. While she understood the need to completely immerse herself in the role of a thief by executing the acts of larceny she’d been assigned, she chafed at the delay it would cause in furthering her plans to uncover whatever she could to use against Mercer.

_At least I’ll be away from him for a while._

On her way back into the Cistern, she paused just past the training room entryway to stare at the door at the end of the tunnel. Sapphire had not identified what lay beyond it and at the time she’d not thought to ask her. Now her curiosity was piqued. She wondered if she dared look for herself.

“You okay?”

She jumped and whirled to find Thrynn behind her, having just left the training room. She felt a stab of pain in her chest. She hadn’t even heard him.

_Fuck! I’m so tired I let him sneak up on me._

“Gods, Thrynn, you scared the shit out of me!”

He gave her a small lopsided smile, his eyes reflecting his amusement. “Didn’t think that was possible. You were just standing there, like you forgot where you were going.”

She sighed. “I’m really tired. It’s been a long day. I was actually just wondering what that door leads to.”

He answered readily. “That’s Gallus’ old room.”

“Gallus?”

“The Guildmaster before Mercer.”

“Oh.” She pondered that, remembering that Nazir had told her that he’d been murdered and that she should try to find out if Mercer had anything to do with it. “What happened to him?”

“He was murdered.”

_You really are a man of few words._

“Gods,” she shuddered dramatically. “When did that happen?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Before I joined.”

_Well that’s helpful._

“Well...I hope the murderer is long gone. Thanks, Thrynn. I gotta go.” She turned on her heel and continued on her way to the Cistern to pick up her pack before heading to the Inn. She heard him murmur behind her.

“Always a pleasure.”


	14. Preparations

The sun was beginning to set as Raven finally climbed the ladder to the outside world. She hurried across the graveyard and toward the market, hoping she wasn’t too late. Some of the other stalls had already closed, but she could see the smith was still at work.

He looked up as she approached, and she could see his disapproval by the light of the forge as he ran his eyes over her thieves’ leathers, then settled on her face. She smiled at him, less in greeting and more in amusement at the thought of how much more he would have disapproved of the red and black leathers of the Brotherhood.

He spoke first. “What do you want, thief?”

She kept her smile. “Some courtesy would be nice. But in lieu of that, I would like some oil to soften this new jacket.”

He gave the metal he was working a few more strikes with his hammer, then placed it into the water to cool. Then he rummaged around on his shelves and picked up a jar. He turned back to her, holding it aloft. “Ten septims.”

“Steep. Do you often overcharge the Guild? Surely that does not endear you to Brynjolf.”

He frowned. “You’re the one who threatened Bersi, Haelga and Keerava.”

_I really don’t have time for this._

“You are Balimund, correct?” She stepped closer, feeling the heat of the forge, and knowing its light would flatter her features. She ran her eyes over him in admiration, as if very pleased with what she was seeing. She spoke in her most seductive tones. “Tonilla told me about you,” she purred. “You know Tonilla? From the Guild — she handles our armor — she said you were very _skilled_ with your hands...that you could...coax the leather into doing as you wish, as a man caresses a woman…”

Balimund swallowed. He was already sweating from the intense fire of the forge, but he lifted a hand to wipe his brow and cleared his throat.

She walked languidly around the anvil to stand close to him. “We would be very unhappy to lose such skilled hands, but if we had to, we wouldn’t find it that difficult to find another smith...say the one in Shor’s Stone?”

He grunted, blowing air out of his mouth and ruffling his large mustache. “Five”, he said hoarsely.

_No, you’ve vexed me._

“I think three Septims is fair for this small jar,” she murmured softly in his ear.

He nodded. She pulled the coins out of her pouch and handed them over, then took the proffered jar. “A pleasure, Balimund. Good evening to you.”

She turned and walked away, adding a little extra sway to her hips. As she walked back toward the market, she saw Mercer approaching her, lit intermittently by the lanterns he was passing under. She went to meet him.

_Sithis give me strength._

“What are you doing out this late?” he asked.

_Are you my father now, too?_

“I was buying this oil to soften my jacket. Then I was going on to the Inn to have a hot bath and soak my wrist. I want to leave first thing in the morning to take care of...the business I’ve been given.”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes shuttered. She wondered what he was thinking.

“The Inn is not safe. Come with me.” He turned away.

She followed without hesitation, squelching her annoyance. If she had learned anything about controlling men, it was that you moved when you were told to, or you suffered. She thought about unpleasant ways to kill him as he lead her through a gate near the temple, then back behind a large house and into the yard. A large Nord, whom she took to be a hired sword, patrolled the grounds.

Mercer unlocked the door and led her through a packed storeroom and up some stairs into the parlor. She looked around with interest, impressed. Opulent rugs provided an elegant stage for the finely crafted furniture. Items of silver and gold lined every shelf. Glazed pottery was tucked strategically here and there and imported paintings graced the walls. Books lay on low tables or occupied places of importance among the silver and gold. There were even some Dwemer artifacts, curiosities that must have cost him a fortune--unless he had lifted them directly from dwarven ruins himself--or stolen them. All of it was very tastefully arranged, designed to catch the eye and awe the viewer.

_Well the Guild may not be doing well, but the Guildmaster definitely is. I wonder just where he obtained all these riches._

He shouted at a servant to prepare a bath. The woman appeared from what had to be a kitchen, dropped a small curtsy as if Mercer were a lord in his manor, and hurried to do his bidding.

Raven felt a stab of alarm, but kept a smile on her face as he turned to look at her. “You are kind. It will be nice to relax where I don’t have to worry about a knife in my back or...undesired company.”

_At least I hope so. What are you planning, Mercer?_

He smiled slightly and she could see amusement in his eyes, rather than pleasure at being complimented.

_I need to stick to the absolute truth with this man._

He stepped closer, reaching out to take a lock of her hair and rub it between thumb and forefinger. “I doubt you are that concerned about someone bothering you.”

“That’s true. I am confident that I could overcome almost any threat, except one.”

“And what would that be?”

“You.”

He chuckled, a dark sound. “An inspired answer. You’re a clever girl, Raven.” He released the lock of hair and turned away from her, walking into the dining room, where he lifted a bottle of Firebrand Wine from the table. Uncorking it, he pulled two silver goblets off a shelf and filled both half way. She set her pack down on the floor near the banister before walking over to join him. She accepted the drink he offered her.

“I usually drink tea,” she said.

“Indulge me.” He lifted his drink. “To a long and prosperous relationship.”

_Don’t you mean ownership?_

She tapped her goblet to his, then cautiously took a sip. True to its name, the fiery liquid scorched across her tongue and burned its way down her throat, leaving in its wake a strong flavor of cinnamon and snowberry. Coughing, she lowered the goblet and gulped air, trying to stem the burning sensation. She could see that Mercer was entertained by her struggle. Unwilling to admit defeat, she took a larger drink. It went down easier this time. She felt a warmth spread out from her stomach, tingling through her limbs; relaxing her.

_Oh, I need to watch this stuff or I’ll be babbling things I shouldn’t._

He pulled out a chair, indicating that she sit, then walked around the table to sit on the other side. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “I ate late. Though those sweet rolls look good.”

He pushed the platter toward her and she picked one up and nibbled at it delicately.

_I am feeling the soft gloves now. How long before the whip is brought to bear?_

“Why are you in Skyrim, Raven? I would think a noblewoman of your beauty would have found more fruitful opportunities in Cyrodiil.” Mercer lounged back in his chair, lifting the goblet to his lips to sip.

_Truth is a slippery thing. How much to tell? He’s obviously not stupid. He’s pegged me as a noblewoman already. It probably wouldn’t take much effort for him to check my story._

“I believe we are both here for the same reason. Court intrigue. My husband was trying to maneuver his way nearer the throne. He angered the wrong people and I was caught in the middle. I was forced to leave, as you were.”

He stiffened, and she saw for a moment the deep anger smoldering beneath the surface.

_So...you were caught in the same web as I. But for you, it was a setback. For me it was the door to freedom._

“What was your husband’s name?”

_Shit._

“Caelus Avienus.”

“And what was it he did which angered these...wrong people?”

She set the sweet roll down on a convenient plate and licked her fingers slowly; then picked up a napkin and wiped them. She met his eyes.

“Caelus uncovered some machination of the Elder Council. They had him killed. I fled that very night, knowing they would pin the murder on me. It was well known that he abused me. I lost two children because of him. My motive was strong and no one would have questioned it.” She tossed the napkin on the table, then continued, allowing irritation to color her tone. Mercer paused in his enjoyment of the wine to watch her, as if judging the veracity of her story.

“I came to this miserable shithole of a country and hid myself, surviving by sheer willpower. I dared not seek marriage to any man of high birth, lest I advertise my presence. Nor, in truth, did I desire such a situation. The thought of becoming the wife of some pandering fool in this primitive land disgusts me; especially one who fawns on Ulfric Stormcloak. When I encountered Brynjolf in the marketplace, I thought perhaps the Guild might offer what I needed. Obscurity. A chance to regain some of the wealth I lost.” She paused, lacing her fingers together, the tightness in her shoulders easing; allowing a hint of a smile to grace her lips.

“Then, I met you. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, you are high born. You possess the ruthless drive necessary to succeed in this world. Indeed,” here she waved a hand at the wealth which surrounded them, “you have already attained much. And you are no fool.”

He leaned forward, setting his drink on the table; holding her gaze with his cold grey-blue eyes. “My wealth is my own.” There was threat there; a warning.

She lifted her head, gazing at him with hooded eyes, her smile widening into something more seductive. “I would be an idiot to try to take anything from you. To be safe from the Council; to be warm and well fed, and perhaps earn a little for myself, is all I desire.” She paused for effect.

“Tell me what you wish, my lord, and if it is within my power, you shall have it.”

The menace left his eyes, replaced by something she could not quite decipher.

_Damn but the man is hard to read. Is he pleased? Suspicious? No. Secure. Secure in his own importance; in his dominance over me. Avienus often looked like that. Fucking bastard._

Mercer’s eyes left Raven’s and settled on something behind her. She turned to see the servant who had gone to draw her bath.

“Speak,” he ordered.

“The bath is ready, milord.”

He rose from the table. “Come.”

She rose as well, and followed him; retrieving her pack as she went, back down into the basement, past the storeroom and down a hallway to a door at the end. He opened the door to reveal a small, well appointed, wood paneled room with several lit braziers around the perimeter and a large ornate bathtub which occupied most of the central floor space. Steam rose from the hot water inside it and the sharp scent of juniper filled the air.

_He does very well for himself. I haven’t seen a tub like that since I left Cyrodiil._

She set her pack down on a bench and turned to him.

“You will be safe here. I must return to the Guild for a bit. Call for Valla if you need anything.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

She collapsed on the bench, letting out a sigh of relief; trying to let go of the tension she felt.

Round one is over. He might disagree, but I think it was a draw.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Brynjolf.”

The Guild’s Second looked up in surprise when Mercer spoke his name. It was rare for the Guildmaster to enter the Flagon, and he had totally missed the silence which had fallen in the tavern the moment the man had entered. He’d been wrapped in his own dark thoughts, most of which revolved around Raven.

Mercer motioned with his head and turned to leave. Brynjolf slid off the bar stool and followed. When they had arrived at the desk in the Cistern, his boss leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.

“I spoke with Maven this evening. She’s informed me that Aringoth has refused to sell any more honey to the Black-Briars.”

“What? Has he taken leave of his senses? If he had any to begin with, that is.”

“Something’s going on,” Mercer growled. “Maven wants us to find out what it is. Send Vex over there right away.”

“Right.” Brynjolf started to turn away.

“One more thing.”

Brynjolf turned back. The Guildmaster reached down and picked up a message cylinder from the desk. “See that this gets into the hands of a courier first thing in the morning, bound for Cyrodiil.” The seal was Mercer’s personal mark, not that of the Guild.

Only long practice in the art of the con enabled Brynjolf to keep his distress out of his face. Raven was Imperial. What had she told him? “Will do,” he said, tapping the cylinder against his other hand. Once again he turned.

“Oh, and Brynjolf…”

He turned back one last time.

“If that message should go astray, I’ll know who to come after.” Mercer smiled at him, and Brynjolf could see the pleasure he was deriving from taunting his Second. He stepped forward until he was right in Brynjolf’s face.

“You may be able to hide your feelings from _her_, but I’ve known you for too long. I should thank you. You’ve brought me quite the treasure. If my contact in Cyrodiil doesn’t confirm what she’s told me, you can have what’s left of her.”

Brynjolf turned away quickly, unable to trust himself not to kill the man where he stood. Mercer’s derisive laughter followed him all the way to the Flagon door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven lazed in the hot, scented water for a long time, thoroughly enjoying the luxury and realizing for the first time since arriving in Skyrim how much she’d missed it. She’d come to accept the hardships of fending for herself in the Sanctuary and out in the wilds or the primitive cities of the harsh land she now called home. It had been an acceptable trade-off for being free and safe from Avienus’ cruelties. Nazir’s gentle love had made it bearable.

But she did not fool herself. Luxurious though it was, she knew it was just an attractive lure. She would enjoy it while she could, but as soon as her task was accomplished, she’d be back in the Sanctuary as quickly as she could get there.

As the water grew tepid she took care of her grooming chores. She brushed and oiled and shaved, the latter a custom she maintained from her homeland. Skyrim females were far too hirsute for her tastes, though the men seemed to prefer them that way. Finally as she dried herself, she considered what she should wear. Mercer seemed to like the black silk, although it felt blasphemous to wear the gift from her true lover for him.

_This isn’t about Nazir. This is about getting the job done. He would understand._

She pulled it over her head, stepped into her spare smalls and put the breeches back on, following them with her wool socks and boots. Finally she buckled on the jacket, to guard against the cold for her walk back to the Guild.

_I really need to buy some new clothes. I’ll stop by Radiant Raiment, while I’m in Solitude._

Picking up her pack, she opened the door, glancing back to see if she’d left anything behind. Then she turned back and started violently. Mercer was standing in the hallway.

“Gods,” she gasped. “I thought you’d gone to the Guild.”

“I’ve been back for a while. I came to see if you’d drowned.”

She smiled, relaxing somewhat. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had a bath that luxurious in a very long time. I was enjoying it. Thank you.”

His eyes traveled over her. “You’re overdressed.”

She flushed. “Uh...I was going back to the Guild to sleep.”

“No. You’ll sleep here from now on.”

He turned abruptly and walked back down the hallway toward the stairs. She took a fortifying breath and followed.

“Privy’s here.” He tapped a door as they passed. He led her up the stairs, then up again to the top level of the house. It was warmer there. He crossed the small common room to an open doorway and stood aside for her to enter, then followed her in.

Candles had been lit and a fire crackled in the fireplace beyond the large bed. A large thick rug spread over most of the floor. Well crafted chairs, a dresser and a wardrobe completed the furnishings. The bed had been turned down and she could see the sheets were fine silk, not the rough cotton more common in Skyrim, even in noble homes. The pillows were large and inviting.

She set her pack down, unbuckled her jacket and hung it on the bedpost before turning to thank him again. “It’s very nice. I could get spoiled with a room like this.”

He came nearer, sliding his left hand around the back of her neck to draw her close. Then he fisted his hand in her damp hair, tilting her head back slightly. She drew in a breath.

_Here we go. Nazir, forgive me._

He held her like that for a moment, nostrils flaring as he drew in her scent. But his eyes remained cold; distant — not at all like Nazir, whose expressive eyes lit her on fire when he looked at her. She swallowed, unsettled. Even Avienus had shown more fervor than this.

She felt his right hand rest on her thigh, then travel inward. Through her leathers, she felt his fingers press tightly against her. A tingly warmth spread between her thighs and she felt herself begin to throb. She opened her mouth, surprised at her body’s unbidden response. He covered it with his own, sliding his tongue inside to taste her, and she wondered that a man with such cold eyes could deliver such an ardent kiss.

She pressed against him, and lifted her arms to place them around his neck. Before she could reach around him, he released her and stepped back. She stumbled, off balance, and stared at him, breathless and frustrated. He smiled, and now his eyes mocked her. Then she understood. There had been no passion involved. It had been a calculated move; an assault.

“Sleep well, Raven.” He turned and left, leaving the door open.

_Oh you really are a fucker, Mercer Frey._


	15. Secrets

Despite the comfort of the silken sheets and soft mattress, Raven spent a restless night, troubled by dreams in which she made love to Nazir, only to have him turn into Mercer. Finally she rose, dressed herself and made her way as quietly as she could down to the privy, praying that she would not wake her nuisance of a host. Climbing the stairs back up to find the kitchen, she stirred up the fire and prepared a kettle to boil water for tea.

As she straightened from the fire, Mercer appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms.

_Damn it._

“You’re up early.”

_How observant you are, fucker._

He was wearing a finely tailored quilted robe over trouse, which were tucked into soft boots. The change in attire made him look almost handsome, and every inch the noble lord of the manor.

_What a farce._

“I’m hungry,” she said, “and I wanted some tea.”

“Valla will be here shortly.”

She plucked a few twigs of frost mirriam from the dried branches hanging over the table and placed them into a bowl to crush. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I fended for myself. The cart leaves early for Whiterun and I don’t want to miss it.”

He crossed the room and pulled a chair out from the table, turning it around to straddle it. His robe pulled open as he did, and she tried not to look at his well-muscled chest with its intricate lacing of scars.

“The cart’s a little public, isn’t it?”

She bit back a sharp retort. “I’ll be stepping off it before we reach the city.” She was unable to entirely keep the angry undertone out of her voice.

Resting his elbow on the back of the chair and placing his chin in his hand, he smiled. It was...a possessive smile. Not like Avienus; but something far more dangerous, deadly in its seductive lure. Suddenly she regretted wearing the black silk. It clung tightly to her form and she could feel his eyes running over every curve. The memory of her frustration from the night before returned; bringing with it an unwanted desire for satisfaction. She forced herself to concentrate on grinding the mirriam, uncomfortably aware that her nipples were crinkling up and noting that the smile grew deeper as his eyes rested on her full breasts. She flushed.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it! How is he doing this to me?_

“Do I detect a note of temper behind that beautiful mask, Raven?”

_Mask? Shit. Of course he’s suspicious of me. I’d be an idiot to think otherwise._

She looked over at him. “Credit me with some intelligence, Guildmaster.”

He rose suddenly from the chair and stepped toward her, taking her firmly by the jaw, his thumb and forefinger placed at the pressure points, but exerting no force.

“I think I prefer ‘my lord’,” he drawled. “And I think you are too clever for your own good. Remember that your life is mine, Raven. You can’t hide from me, and you can’t escape. So don’t even think about not coming back. There’s no place in Tamriel where I won’t find you.”

She tried to pull back, but he held her fast. “I joined the Guild in good faith, my lord. I have no intention of leaving it, or you.”

_Two can play at this game._

She reached for him, placing her hands on his bare skin and smoothing them slowly up his chest, her fingertips brushing lightly across his nipples. She was rewarded with an intake of breath, however small, and a tightening of his entire body. “I told you what I wanted last night; not to leave, but to stay. I don’t think you want some meek, fainting female. You want a woman who can withstand you; who can serve you and defend you. But most of all, you want someone who can help you regain what you desire most; what you lost when you were forced from your home.”

“What do you know of what I lost,” he growled. His fingers now dug into her jaw and she tightened it against the pain.

“I know it because I lost it as well. Wealth, land, title; but most of all, _power_.”

He scoffed. “You were chattel.”

_How dare you!_

She glared at him, pulling her hands away. “I was Lady Camerius-Avienus, the wealthiest and most beautiful woman in Bruma. When I spoke, people did as I bid. It was _my_ dowry which bought the Estate we lived in. And had my foolish husband used me to his benefit, he would have been treated as royalty. He would have risen in the Court of the Emperor without his idiotic schemes.”

He released her. “Perhaps I have misjudged you,” he said, surprise coloring his tone. “Perhaps your true nature is no different from my own.”

_At last. I’ve found his weakness. I have no desire for power or wealth anymore, but his eats at him like rats in the dark._

She stepped closer, raising her hands to caress him again. “We are much alike. When the courier returns from Cyrodiil, you will see the truth of my words.”

She felt him stiffen in shock. “You couldn’t possibly know of that.”

She smiled at him as if she were indulging a child, and lifted her hand to trace a finger down the line of his jaw. “I did ask you to credit me with some intelligence.”

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t overstep yourself, Raven,” he snarled.

She continued to smile. “It would be naive of me to think you would not check my story. And I am only teasing you. Has it been so long since you shared intimacy with a woman who is worthy of you?”

He actually paled, and she knew she had unwittingly probed a tender spot. Who knew that he even had tender spots? She replaced the smile with a look of concern.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to prod old wounds.”

He let go of her hand and turned away from her abruptly, striding for the door as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Just before stepping through, he stopped. “Take whatever you need for the trip. I’ll see you when you return.” Then he was gone.

She smiled at the empty doorway.

_Round two goes to me. I think I’ve found more than one weakness. I wonder who she was?_

Digging out that bit of information would be her next task.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whiterun, Markarth, Solitude, Dawnstar, Windhelm...Raven crossed the whole of Skyrim over the next three weeks, learning what it was to be a thief. She found it incredibly exhausting and boring in the extreme, once she’d worked out a routine. She had a couple of close calls, but nothing really serious. For a person adept at discreet assassination, thievery was ridiculously simple--just time consuming.

She bought a greatcoat and plain breeches in Falkreath, for anonymity as well as warmth, and exchanged her small pack for a larger, sturdy leather one to carry the goods she was gathering. It irked her to be so close to home and not be able to pay Nazir a visit. She missed him terribly, and she would have loved to have asked him if he knew of the mysterious woman who must have broken Mercer’s heart. Nazir had told her most of his information had come from Delvin, yet he had never mentioned a woman in the Guildmaster’s life. Possibly she had not entered the Guild--if indeed she was Guild--until the old fence returned.

She also disposed of her ragged clothes and the bloody gloves she’d been wagging around, burning them in her campfire on a night she spent on the road. Gradually she became more efficient, both in deed and possessions. The lighter she traveled, the more stolen loot she could carry. She concentrated on seeking out jewelry and gems as extras, with an eye to pleasing Mercer, fetcher that he was. She had no need for such baubles. Her income as an assassin brought her far more than the paltry sum fencing such items would bring.

Most amusing to her was the gossip she began hearing in the taverns and inns she stopped in. It seemed the Thieves Guild was on the rise. Wild tales of hordes of thieves ransacking entire towns made her snort into her tea. Surely she couldn’t be the cause of such fish stories? If so, then the Guild really was in dire straits.

Hard rain heralded her arrival in Solitude. She sloshed through puddles and made her way to Radiant Raiment, pushing the door open and stepping inside to drip on the rug in the entryway, looking like a wet dog. Endarie stared at her in irritation for a moment, then gasped and hurried around the counter.

“Rowena? What’s happened? I hardly recognized you, my dear!”

Raven gave her a relieved look. “Oh! Endarie, it’s so good to see you! I must look _dreadful_. I thought I’d _neve_r get here. The weather’s been just_ awful_ and our cart broke an axle. It tumbled into the river and my chest with it and all I had were these travel clothes--I’m _so_ sorry I’m dripping all over your rug--but I…”

“Hush my dear! Of course it’s quite alright. Come in! Come sit by the fire and let’s get you dried out. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Endarie ushered her back to the living area she shared with her sister, Taarie, who came down the stairs to see what the fuss was. Between them they had her out of her wet clothes and into a warm robe in front of the fire in short order, with her feet propped up on a footstool and a cup of tea in her hand.

_This is real power, Mercer. Something you’ll never understand._

She had cultivated the persona of Rowena in Solitude after visiting the ancient city and falling in love with it. It reminded her of home. Nazir had brought her to the Altmer sisters for a treat, and they had come up with the ruse together. The sisters had been charmed by the Redguard’s manners, as much as an Altmer could ever be charmed by any member of another race, but had most especially been captivated by his coin. Once they’d seen how much he was willing to spend, they could not do enough. ‘Rowena’ had been welcome ever since, and she had become a fixture in the capital city’s ever changing population as well.

“Where is Nazir, my dear? At the tavern?” Endarie asked.

“Oh no--well, not at the Skeever, anyway. He’s probably lifting a mug in the Four Shields as we speak. He wanted to go out and see what he could salvage from the wreckage as soon as the rain lets up.”

“Such a shame,” tutted Taarie. “I do hope he’s able to recover something. Although I imagine all of your garments will be absolutely _ruined_.” The implication that ‘Rowena’ would need to replace her clothing was clear, and Raven had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling.

“I’m sure they will be,” she mourned. “I’ll need to replace them, of course.”

Thus it was that the sisters laid out an assortment of fine clothing for her, and she spent a pleasant couple of hours trying things on and choosing what she thought would please Mercer as well as some more practical items for herself. By the time they’d finished, wrapped everything up, and the coin had been exchanged, it was growing dark. The sisters extended an invitation to supper, and even offered her a bed for the night, which she graciously accepted.

“Correcting” a merchant’s books had never been easier.


	16. Vows

Silence reigned in the Flagon; gloom hanging over it like a heavy pall. The bar was empty of the usual patrons. Only Vekel leaned against it, his arms folded, staring at nothing. Brynjolf and Delvin sat at the table which stood closest to the spot Vex usually haunted, silently sipping their drinks. Neither one felt like breaking the silence and neither had anything to say had they been so inclined. A skeever poked its head cautiously out from behind a crate, sniffing the air, as if curious about the unusual quiet, then darted across the floor and back into the shadows beyond the table. No one troubled themselves to even look, much less to track it down and kill it.

Quiet footsteps heralded Tonilla’s arrival. Brynjolf, his back to the wooden partition which marked the storage area for the tavern, looked up, watching her approach and trying to discern her expression. She looked tired and irritated. She pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh.

“How is she?” asked the Guild’s Second.

“Well, she’s better, at least. I’m having a hard time keeping her in that bed. But she’s in no shape to be working.”

“I still can’t believe she got her arse kicked over there,” marveled Delvin.

Tonilla’s lips tightened, and she directed an angry glare at Brynjolf. “Has Mercer said _anything_? I mean, what’s he going to do about this shit?”

Brynjolf ignored the dark woman’s attitude, knowing it wasn’t directed at him. “Mercer isn’t confiding in me. I know Maven’s been riding him, and he’s touchy as a sabrecat in a cage, but he hasn’t given me any clue as to what he’s planning. I honestly think he’s waiting for Raven.”

Tonilla snorted. “Does he really think a green recruit can do what Vex couldn’t?”

Brynjolf lowered his head and furrowed his brow at the fence. “I wouldn’t presume to know what he’s thinking, but judging from how she’s performed so far, I wouldn’t dismiss her so easily.”

Tonilla crossed her arms. “Well, where is she then? She’s been gone, what, two sevendays?”

“Nearly three,” volunteered Delvin. “Long enough to do the jobs I gave her, tho’ I don’t know what she had from Vex.”

“She could be locked up in prison, for all we know.” Tonilla scowled.

The sound of a door opening and closing echoed in the cavernous room, carried by the water and bouncing around the curved walls. All three looked over to the entrance to see a man hurrying around the walkway. Brynjolf set his mug down with a clink on the tabletop and rose, moving quickly around Delvin and toward the newcomer. He could see the man held a message cylinder in one hand.

The courier had reached the blockage that was Dirge. Brynjolf patted the big Nord on the back and stepped around him. “I’ll take that,” he said to the man, holding out his hand.

“I was told to give this directly to Mercer Frey,” he declared. “ And _you_ don’t match his description.”

Brynjolf frowned. “Fine. I’ll go fetch him.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sapphire rubbed her arms and shifted from foot to foot, glaring down the road at the approaching cart. The weather had taken an unexpected turn and she was freezing.

“Come on,” she groused to herself. “Can’t that beast go any faster?” She knew it wouldn’t do any good to go meet the wagon. The driver only stopped at the appointed place. When he’d finally pulled the horse to a halt in front of the Kynesgrove stop, she reached up to hand over her coin. “Riften,” she said.

“Climb in then. I’ll be right back.” He set the brake, draped the reins over the seat and climbed down from the box, then disappeared into the trees.

“Fine time to take a piss,” she growled. She walked around to the back of the cart, placed a boot on the back step and climbed in. The only other occupant nodded at her. Sapphire studied her surreptitiously as she seated herself. The woman wore a fine coat, cut unlike any other she’d seen before. A deep midnight blue, it hugged her body at the arms and bodice, then flared out at the waist to form a sort of skirt, split for riding. Her breeches were a black so dark they had purple undertones and the matching boots rose to her knees. She wore a dark grey woolen cloak with the hood pulled down so that her features were obscured. She leaned over to unstrap a bundle of something from the top of a bulging leather pack; then tossed it at Sapphire, who caught it reflexively, startled.

“That should fit well enough. I wouldn’t want you to freeze.”

There was no mistaking the voice. “Raven?” The woman raised both hands to lift the hood briefly, and smiled at her.

“My gods, Raven! What the fuck are you doing, dressed like that?”

Raven lifted a finger to her lips. The driver was returning. Then she shifted a package to her other side and patted the seat next to her. Sapphire took the hint and moved to sit beside her, then shook out the bundle her Guildmate had given her. She let out a low cry of appreciation and pulled the greatcoat on.

“Better?”

“Gods, yes. Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t expect the weather to turn this early.”

The driver climbed in and took up the reins again, shaking them and calling out to the horse to get along.

Raven leaned close to Sapphire, keeping her voice low. “You never know what it will do in the north. I always come prepared. Did you come on business?”

“Uh, yeah. Noble’s home, up in the mountains. Got what I came for. Was pretty easy, actually.”

“That’s good. Tell me what’s been happening while I’ve been away.”

“Oh gods, you won’t believe it. Did you know Vex was sent to Goldenglow?”

“No...what’s Goldenglow?”

“It’s a bee farm. You know, for honey? The Black-Briars buy it to put in their mead. Well, the owner, a Wood Elf named Aringoth, has refused to sell any more to them and Vex was sent to find out why. Only he had hired mercenaries to guard the place and Vex nearly got killed. She came back cut to pieces. I don’t know how she made it back to the Guild, bleeding like she was.”

“Is she okay?” Raven’s voice didn’t sound that concerned. Sapphire could relate. She’d been on the receiving end of the sour woman’s acid tongue herself.

“She’s on the mend, but she’s got a ways to go.”

“A pity,” tutted Raven. Sapphire snorted.

“So what else?”

“Well, Maven Black-Briar’s having a fit over it and Mercer’s storming around the Cistern, snarling at everyone--”

“How is that different from his normal nasty attitude?”

Sapphire laughed out loud this time. She decided she liked Raven. “It’s much worse, believe me. Everyone’s walking around on egg shells and poor Brynjolf’s had his arse chewed so many times it’s a wonder that he has any left. See, Mercer’s gotta come up with a way to find out what’s going on. Vex was our best infiltrator. There’s nobody else.”

“Hmmm…” hummed Raven. Sapphire wished she could see her expression, but the hood hid her face. “Has Mercer said anything about me?”

“Uh...I dunno. I don’t go anywhere near him. Why?”

“I’m...concerned. About my safety.”

“Why...did he threaten you?” She felt a chill run down her back.

Pushing her hood back slightly, Raven turned her head to look directly at her. She could see the worry in her Guildmate’s eyes. “Before I tell you anything, I need your assurance that you will keep this between us. We don’t know each other very well, but I sense that you have an understanding of what men are capable of; of how cruel they can be, how abusive. I’ve been on the receiving end of that abuse before, and I don’t ever want to be in that position again. So I need your help, and I need your silence.”

Sapphire recoiled. Memories of pain, groping hands, jeering male voices assaulted her. She sat up and hugged herself, turning her face away from Raven, struggling to control shudders that had nothing to do with the cold.

“I...I can’t...Raven...I’m sorry, but I just can’t. If Mercer found out…”

“How would he find out?”

“He...just...seems to know things…”

“Sapphire, the night before I left, Mercer moved me into his house.”

“What?” Her head snapped back to look at Raven. She felt a thrill of horror. “Why would he do that?”

Raven cocked her head, giving her an exasperated look.

“Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. Fuck! Raven, what are you going to do! Why are you even coming back?”

“You know he would only hunt me down. There’s no way I can leave.”

Sapphire knew she was right. Gods. She was thankful Mercer had never shown any interest in her. She wanted to help, she really did. She liked Raven; it was nice to have another woman in the Guild; one who didn’t snap her head off every time they spoke; who appeared willing to share without requiring something in return. But...Mercer...terrified her.

“What did you want me to do?” she finally asked.

“I don’t want you to _do_ anything. I only want the answers to some questions. All I’m asking is that you not tell anyone else what we talked about. And, if I ask something that you don’t want to answer, that’s fine too.”

Sapphire was silent for a long time, thinking about it. Questions seemed harmless enough. If she kept her mouth shut — and she was good at that — it should be okay.

“Alright. I promise not to say anything. I don’t know who’d I’d tell anyway.”

Raven lifted her right hand, tightened it into a fist, and extended her little finger.

Sapphire stared at it. She’d never sworn an oath with anyone before. A shiver of fear swept through her. Slowly she lifted her own hand and made a fist, extending her finger. Raven twisted her finger around Sapphire’s.

“I will hold your secrets and you will hold mine.”

Sapphire repeated her words, although not with as much fervor as Raven declared them. “I will hold your secrets and you will hold mine.”

“If I should break my vow then my finger is thine.”

“If I should...break my vow...then my finger is thine.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out. She felt...different; as if some of the weight she carried was lifted from her shoulders; as if she were no longer alone, but part of something — part of someone. The vow worked both ways. Raven was now as responsible for her secrets, her life, as she was responsible for Raven’s. Somehow, in some strange way, the threat of losing a finger made her feel good, as if she gained something.

“Well...alright,” she said, “what do you want to ask?”

Raven beckoned to her and leaned in closer. Sapphire leaned her head in so that they were almost touching.

“Have you ever heard anything about Mercer having a lover before? Someone who may have broken his heart?”

“Mercer? A lover?” she snorted. “Not that I ever heard of.”

“Think hard now, it’s very important. Any overheard conversations, any whispers, any indication that Mercer was upset over a woman. Any woman.”

Sapphire thought seriously about it, back through years of living in the Guild. Something clicked in her mind. “I seem to remember...him being pissed — really angry — about the woman who killed Gallus. But we were all pissed off about that. Well, I mean the older thieves, the ones who were there when it happened. And all Mercer wanted to do was find her and kill her. He didn’t love her. All I thought was I wished she hadn’t killed Gallus, cause then Mercer wouldn’t be in charge.”

“Gallus was the former Guildmaster, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what the woman’s name was?”

“Kayla...no, that’s not right. Karliah. Yeah.”

“Karliah.”

Sapphire nodded, and bumped her head against Raven’s.

Raven reached up to rub her forehead and Sapphire snorted. “Sorry.”

Raven let out an exasperated sigh. “So how long ago was it that Karliah killed Gallus?”

“Gods, I don’t know, uh...wait...I remember Brynjolf talking to Delvin once. He said he only had twenty winters when it happened. They were crying in their mead about something. You know how men get when they’re drunk.”

“How many winters does Brynjolf have?”

“Well it’s not like we celebrate birthing days or anything — I don’t know. If I had to guess...I’d say forty, forty five.”

“Yes!” Raven reached out, pulled her forward and gave her a hug, releasing her quickly.

“But how does that help you? They weren’t lovers.”

“Sapphire, when you love someone _so much_, and they reject you, or betray everything you held dear, you want to kill them. Trust me on that. I’m willing to bet she was the one who broke his heart.”

“Alright, but I still don’t see how that helps you.”

“It may not. But...I can see he’s twisted inside over something. Something that hurts him so much he can’t talk about it. I accidentally said something, in reference to a woman, and he reacted badly. I don’t want to step on that trap again. The more I know about his past, the safer I’ll be.”

“Somehow I can’t see Mercer getting his feelings hurt over anything. I didn’t think he had any. Feelings that is.”

“They’re there. Buried deep; but they’re there.”

Sapphire marveled at her. Raven was not only living in Mercer’s house, but getting close enough to him to learn about him; to read his feelings; to see what was under the man’s flinty exterior. She couldn’t imagine what that must be like. How could you even have a normal conversation with him? The only times he’d spoken to her he’d treated her like she was something he’d scraped off his boot. She shook her head. “I don’t know how you can stand it, Raven — living in his house like that.

“I don’t have any say in it.”

“Has he tried to, you know…”

“I haven’t been there long enough yet. But he will.”

Sapphire hugged herself again and shuddered. To even think about Mercer’s hands touching her own body made her want to vomit. “What will you do?”

“What do you think I’ll do? Do I have any choice in the matter?” Raven’s acerbic response made her sorry she’d asked. _Of course_ she would have to...to..Sapphire’s mind shied away from the horror of it.

“I’m sorry, Raven.”

Raven ignored her. She leaned over and dug in a side pouch of her pack. She drew out a tiny leather satchel and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“A gift. I saw it and thought of you.”

Sapphire looked at her, furrowing her brow, puzzled. Then she opened the pouch and emptied the contents into her palm. A blue sapphire, entwined in silver filigree and strung on a sturdy silver chain gleamed up at her.

“Oh my gods, it’s _beautiful_. Where did you get it?”

“It’s rude to ask where gifts are from. Here, let me help you put it on.” She undid the catch, fastened it around her neck, then pulled her hair out from under the chain.

Sapphire held the blue gem in her hand, staring at it in wonder. Then she met Raven’s eyes, suddenly suspicious. “Why would you give this to me? You could sell it. Keep the coin for yourself.”

“I made enough from this trip that I don’t need it. As I said, I saw it and I thought of you, because of the sapphire. However, don’t think I’m trying to buy your friendship. We’ve sworn a vow to each other, but that doesn’t make us friends. If you _want_ friendship, then it’s here for you. But you are not obligated to me in any way, other than to keep that vow.”

Sapphire thought about that for a while. She’d never had anyone she’d call friend. She couldn’t see herself trusting anyone that much. Then she looked at Raven again.

“Would you really take my finger?”

Raven returned her gaze, her dark eyes as hard as ebony. “In a heartbeat, Sapphire. And I would expect you to do the same to me.”


	17. Tryst

Mercer locked the front door behind him and walked across the parlor into the dining room, where he tossed the message cylinder onto the table. He unbuckled his jacket and threw it across a chair, then pulled a bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy from the liquor cabinet. He poured it into a goblet, cursing the slight tremor in his hands, which betrayed a nervousness he did not wish to admit, even to himself. Downing the drink in one large gulp, he leaned forward on the table to steady himself as he waited for the strong spirit to work.

All other concerns were pushed aside in the face of this unknown; the response from his contact which would either confirm or deny Raven’s words. He was ready to receive confirmation of her lies, but something, buried so deep inside him that he was barely aware of its existence, held a faint hope that the words hidden within the cylinder would reveal that she spoke the truth.

The memory of her washed over him unbidden; the feel of her silken hair between his fingers, her crisp scent, the taste of her mouth on his tongue, the sight of her taut nipples in relief against the black Hammerfell silk; but most of all, her fearlessness in the face of his threats. He could still feel her hands stroking his chest even as his fingers dug into her jaw. She stirred him; so like, and yet unlike, Karliah. That she could arouse him so strongly, that she could potentially cause him to lose control again, frightened him; and that provoked his ire. He could not admit that he might lose himself in a woman again. He had worked too hard, had sacrificed too much, to allow that to happen.

Angrily he reached for the cylinder and twisted the top open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gradually the snow and towering pines of the northern lands gave way to the geysers and fumaroles of the volcanic region of Eastmarch. Moist heat, flavored with the stench of sulphur, flowed over them, causing Sapphire to cough almost to the point of retching. Raven fished out a flask of water and wet a cloth for her to filter out the worst of it, and they sipped the water to soothe throats irritated by the fumes. Both of them shed their coats in the warm air.

If she remembered her history correctly, this area had once been known as the Aalto Valley, where jazbay grapes had been cultivated for wine. Even now, nearly a thousand winters later, she could see patches of jazbay growing here and there along the road. The dormant volcano could be seen in the distance, looming over the volcanic tundra, so distant that several turns of the sands passed before they had put it behind them. By that time, the sky had ignited in a brilliant ruby sunset and they could see the dark pine forest ahead, with its promise of cool fresh air, sharp with the tang of loblolly and ponderosa. The driver announced that they would spend the night in Darkwater Crossing and warned Raven that she needed to stay close to the wagon.

“That’s a rough lot, there, milady,” he cautioned. “Orc miners and dark elves. Ye don’t want to run afoul of the likes o’ them.”

“Well aren’t you the fancy one,” groused Sapphire.

Raven sniggered at her and whispered. “I transferred from the Solitude cart at the Windhelm station. He thinks I’m a noble”

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “You never told me where you got that get up.”

“Also in Solitude. I sold some gems I ‘acquired’.”

“Where did you find a fence? I didn’t think we had any there.”

“Why Sapphire, why would a fine lady such as myself need a fence? Who would suspect such an upstanding noblewoman of carrying stolen goods?”

Sapphire stared at her for a moment. “I have to hand it to you, Raven. You’re good. I can see why Mercer wanted you for his own.”

Raven lost her smile. She stared ahead into the dim corridor that they were now entering between the trees. The sky was deepening into a midnight blue darker than her new coat, and a rare red aurora was beginning to light the sky.

Sapphire looked down at the floor of the cart. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Raven squeezed her shoulder. “It’s alright, Sapphire. I’ll survive.”

_I have to. For my family. For Nazir._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They picked up a new passenger in Darkwater, a young Nord woman named Sylgia, who fidgeted nervously in Raven’s presence, and cast dark looks at Sapphire in her Thieves’ armor. Sapphire ignored her, but Raven did her best to put the girl at her ease. She was dressed as a miner, and admitted, when coaxed, that she worked in the Red Belly mine in Shor’s Stone and that her parents owned the Goldenrock mine in Darkwater; which was why she’d been there, visiting them.

The driver turned from the main road onto a smaller track which wound up through the mountains toward Ivarstead. Their pace slowed as the incline of the road steepened and the sturdy draft horse strained against the pull of the wagon. As they approached Nilheim, Raven spotted a deadfall across the road ahead, and a prickle of alarm ran up her spine. She shed her coat quickly, and pushed up the sleeves of her woolen burgundy tunic.

“What’s up?” asked Sapphire. She leaned over the side of the cart to look.

“That’s not a natural deadfall,” responded Raven. She pulled a brace of throwing knives from the front pouch on her pack and strapped it around her thigh. Sylgia watched her, eyes round with fear.

“Alfarinn, I think we’ve got trouble,” she called to the driver. “Sylgia, get down on the floor.” The girl complied.

“Sapphire, follow me.” Raven rolled off the back of the cart and disappeared into the heavy brush growing against the lee of the mountain. Sapphire trailed after her silently.

Alfarinn swore and pulled the horse to a stop as three men rose from behind the deadfall. A female archer appeared at the foot of the bridge which led over to the ruined tower that gave the place its name.

“Just hold it right there, friend!” called the largest of the three men, approaching with his axe held high.

“I’m not your friend, you heathen arsehole,” responded Alfarinn.

The bandit chuckled. “You’re in no position to be hurlin’ insults. Now hand over all your valuables and we might let you live.

“What happened to the other two?” asked the second man. All three began looking around in alarm.

“You sure there were two more?”

“Of course I’m sure! I think…” A small haftless blade suddenly grew from his eye and he dropped, screaming, writhing on the ground. The third took to his heels and the leader yelled at the archer.

“Kill ‘im!”

The archer let fly and Alfarinn fell sideways on the seat, clutching at his shoulder. Sapphire, who’d worked her way up the hill and then back down on the other side of the road, leaped over the bridge’s wall from her hiding place and slit the archer’s throat. A dark blur raced across the road toward the leader, leaping to kick him in the head. He fell, dropping the axe, but grabbed Raven by the ankle and yanked her off her feet. He turned on his side to get up, but she slashed across his hamstrings with her dagger. He screamed and grabbed his leg, falling back to the ground.

The bandit with the blade in his eye was shrieking for someone to kill him. Raven rolled smoothly to her feet and walked around the bandit leader, studying him, feeling the rush of power that always accompanied the prospect of a good kill.

“I’m gonna rip you open!” He declared, trying to rise. She aimed a kick at his injured leg and he fell back, howling in pain. She laughed; a sound as dark as one issued by Mercer.

“I should leave you here,” she said, “let the ravens and skeevers finish you. They’d eat you alive, you know; pick the flesh from your bones a bit at a time, and pluck your eyes from your skull. It would take you hours to die.”

“No, no!”

Sapphire watched from the side of the road, frozen, appalled; not so much by the cruelty she was seeing but by the fact that it was being dealt by someone she’d never associate with such barbarity.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “You’d do the same to us, wouldn’t you? Come now, admit it.”

“No, no I wouldn’t…” he blubbered.

Raven leaned over him and sunk the dagger into his other thigh at the pressure point, twisting it. “I never could abide a liar.”

The man screamed again, a terrible sound of pain and anguish that bounced off the mountain behind them and echoed out over the drop beyond them to diminish in the distance. In the wagon, Sylgia put her hands over her ears, too frightened to look to see what was happening. Alfarinn, biting his lip against his pain, stared in terror at this gracious and genteel woman; suddenly transformed into a daedra from the depths of Oblivion.

“Yes!” bawled the man. “Yes, I would! Please, please stop. Kill me! Death is better than this!

“As you wish,” she said aloud. Then she bent closer, whispering. “When you meet with my Lord Sithis, please give him my love.”

The man’s eyes opened wide as he realized what she was. Then Raven’s dagger slashed across his throat. He choked briefly, then the life left his eyes. Rising gracefully from his still form, she glided on cat feet to the other man and slit his throat as well. She withdrew the gory throwing blade from his eye, and walked calmly to the rushing stream which flowed under the bridge, where she washed both blades and rinsed hands and face.

She returned to where Sapphire stood. The woman started. “Please fetch the bitch’s bow and quiver for me, will you? I’ll see to Alfarinn.

“Uh...sure...should we go after the other one?”

“No. If he was listening, he knows better than to bother us again. We’ll report him to the guards in Ivarstead.”

Sapphire nodded, numb. Then she roused herself to return to where the archer lay.

Raven climbed into the box. Alfarinn eyed her, his eyes reflecting his pain and dread.

“Relax,” she soothed. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“Yer no lady, are you,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Not any more.” Then she yanked the arrow from his arm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Between them, the three women managed to get Alfarinn into the back of the cart. He had fainted from the pain and was now dead weight; awkward to move. Sylgia bandaged his arm with supplies Raven found in his knapsack and applied pressure to keep him from bleeding too much. Sapphire took over the driving while Raven kept watch with an arrow nocked to the bow.

Raven broke the silence between them first. “You don’t do too badly at that.”

“The horse knows the way,” Sapphire responded. “I’ve never driven a cart.”

“Neither have I.”

“So what do we do now? Leave him in Ivarstead?”

“Is there a healer there?”

“Not unless you want to climb the seven thousand steps up to High Hrothgar.”

“I’ll pass on that, thanks. No, we’ll rest the horse there, then move on to Riften.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they were about half a turn of the sands out of Riften, a man stepped out of the shadow of the trees on their right. Raven trained the bow on the newcomer, then lowered it as she recognized Brynjolf.

“What the fuck is he doing out here?” asked Sapphire. She pulled the horse to a stop. Raven jumped down from the box and went to meet him.

Brynjolf spoke without preamble. “I need a word with you, lass.” He looked meaningfully at the wagon.

Raven turned back to her Guildmate. “Take the cart on in, Sapphire. Turn Alfarinn over to the stableman and leave my things with him. I imagine Sylgia can make the walk to Shor’s Stone on her own.” Then she fixed the woman with a serious look, lifting her fist, pinky extended.

Sapphire stared at it for a moment, her lips tightening as if she had only just realized how grave the vow she had taken truly was. She nodded, shook the reins, and they moved on.

“Walk with me, lass.”

She followed him into the trees until they’d reached a convenient outcropping of rock. It was a lovely spot, surrounded by tall golden and crimson aspen, their leaves glowing and transparent in the late afternoon sun. The ground rippled with their color as the breeze stirred those which had fallen to the soft loam. A pair of chickadees fussed at them intermittently as they worked on the nest they were building in a hole in one of the older trees. She wondered if Brynjolf had chosen the spot deliberately, or if it had been mere chance.

He seated himself on the rock and she sat beside him.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” she asked.

“I’ve had Thrynn and Niruin watching the roads. I wanted to catch you before you saw Mercer.” He looked her over. “You look quite the elegant lady, lass. I’m guessing you had a successful trip.”

“I did. Now what’s this about?”

“Mercer sent a courier to Cyrodiil the day you left. Or rather, he had me send one. He used his personal seal so I couldn’t duplicate it.”

“Oh. Well, I was sure he would. He’d want to confirm my story, of course.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him any lies.”

“I’m not _that_ stupid. I had no reason to lie, anyway. He wanted to know why I was in Skyrim, and I told him.”

The tension in Brynjolf’s shoulders eased and he let out a sigh of relief. “Do you mind telling me what you told him?”

Raven repeated the conversation she’d had with Mercer the night before she’d left, leaving out the parts about her desire to stay and serve him. Brynjolf looked at her in surprise.

“You really _are_ a lady then.”

“No, I _was_ a lady. Now I’m a thief. And were it not for Mercer, I’d be very happy with that.”

He was silent for a moment, then he asked tentatively, “Has he...hurt you, lass?”

Raven had a feeling he wanted to know more than just whether or not Mercer had hurt her. The look of misery she’d seen in his eyes when they’d spoken in the Flagon was back.

_Sithis. He’s jealous. How did I miss that before?_

She shook her head. “No. Just threats. But he told me he doesn’t want me sleeping in the Guild anymore. He gave me a room in his house.”

Brynjolf looked as if he’d been sucker punched. He turned his head away from her, trying to regain control over his emotions. She saw his hands tighten into fists. Finally he turned back to look at her.

“That’s not good, lass.”

“Bryn, you have a gift for understatement.” It was the first time she’d used the diminutive of his name, and he gave her a sad little smile. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and touch her.

_He wants me, and he doesn’t dare do anything about it as long as Mercer lives. Oh Bryn. I am not for you._

She decided it was time to divert him, before he did something Mercer would make him regret.

“Sapphire told me that Vex was injured trying to get into Goldenglow.”

He seemed to shake himself, focusing on what she’d said. “How did you meet up with Sapphire? And why was she driving the cart?”

“She joined me at Kynesgrove. I was coming down from Windhelm. The driver was shot by bandits just the other side of Ivarstead, at Nilheim. Sapphire and I took them down.”

“I see. Well, she told you true. I think Mercer’s waiting for you to get back so he can assign the job to you.” Worry now creased his brow.

“If he does, then I will do it.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t see how you’ll have any choice. But I want you to be very careful, lass. Those mercenaries don’t take prisoners. If Vex couldn’t do it…”

“Vex is an infiltrator, not an assassin.”

Bryn regarded her with surprise. “You sound like a member of the Dark Brotherhood.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to be a member of the Brotherhood to know how to kill people. That is, if I’m allowed to kill them.”

“At this point, I don’t think Mercer’s going to mind. Although Maven would prefer that Aringoth remain alive.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

He studied her, as if re-evaluating his opinions about her. “You’re full of surprises, lass.”

She smiled at him and rose to her feet. “I’d best get back. I’m sure Mercer’s not going to be happy that I was gone so long.”

He lowered his head, the look of misery returning.

_He doesn’t like being reminded that I am Mercer’s, not his. And I don’t belong to either of them._

“Be careful, lass.”

“I will, Bryn. Farewell.”

“Until next we meet, lass.”


	18. Lies

_M,_

_What the fuck have you stepped into? Every time I mention the man’s name, people clam up or threaten me. My own informants won’t answer questions for any amount of coin._

_I did manage to track down the woman’s maidservant in some stinking little rat infested pigsty outside of Bruma. Coin didn’t work, but I was able to scare her into giving up some information._

_She confirmed that A was indeed killed by some masked figure and that he said ‘The Council sends their regards’ right before he slashed the man’s throat, but that’s all I could get out of her. She said she ran because she was afraid she’d be killed too. She never went back and she doesn’t know what happened to her lady, but she did give me her name. It’s Becca. With that, I was able to learn that her father is Lord Camerius, a distant cousin of the Emperor himself. The man’s the most wealthy lord in Bruma._

_The only other thing I found out is that the estate is now owned by Lord Amaund Motierre, of the Elder Council, and that Becca disappeared the night of the murder and it’s being blamed on her._

_If the Council is involved in this, then you can’t pay me enough gold to dig any deeper. If you want to fuck with the Imperial government, that’s your business._

_Don’t contact me again. I won’t be here. I’m headed for some place far away from Cyrodiil. It’s too hot here for me now._

_T_

Mercer read the letter three times before finally admitting to himself that Raven had spoken the truth. He was astounded. He’d always assumed that everyone was lying about something, and it had served him well.

He picked up the letter once more, reading it now for what it did _not_ say. Her father was the most wealthy lord in Bruma. Wealth was power. Why had she not gone to him for help? Why did one of the Council members own the estate instead of it going back to the heirs of the Avienus family, or if there were none of that line, to Camerius?

How had she acquired such skill with a blade? But most of all, how was it possible that such a delicate creature could manage to survive a trip through the Jeralls and keep herself alive long enough to wind up in Riften?

He lay the letter down on the table again and steepled his fingers, thinking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
Raven rapped sharply on Mercer’s front door, not wishing to carry her heavy load any further. Riften was winding down for the evening; the vendors beginning to shut down their stalls and the locals filing into the tavern for their evening meals. A passing guard looked her over, whistling appreciatively. She returned his lascivious gaze impassively, wondering what Mercer’s sword would look like shoved down his gullet. He seemed to realize suddenly whose house he was standing in front of, and moved on quickly down the boardwalk.

The door opened and Valla peered out at Raven, then opened it wider, standing back to let her enter. “Welcome, milady. Milord is in his office.” She kept her eyes down.

Raven wondered what instructions he’d given the woman about her. Obviously she’d been told to treat her with respect. She made a mental note to speak to her when she got the chance. Servants could be fonts of information.

“Thank you, Valla.” She held out the package she carried. “Would you place this in my room, please?”

Valla dropped a small curtsy. “Of course, milady.” She accepted the wrapped bundle and turned to ascend the stairs.

Raven set her pack down by the door, then removed her coat and hung it on the peg above it. She pulled her woolen tunic over her head and draped it across the pack. Underneath she wore a white linen chemise, cut short at the bottom and low at her bosom, laced down the front and rimmed around the neckline with delicate tatting. She hoped to distract him with it, and perhaps ease any possible irritation he might have about her long absence.

She heard movement behind her, a boot scraping across wood, and she turned to see Mercer standing, arms crossed, his usual scowl replaced by something more speculative as he ran his eyes over her.

“You took your sweet time.”

“It’s lovely to see you as well, my lord.” She walked toward him, stopping only when she was very close. “Delvin and Vex gave me many jobs to do.”

He looked down at the almost sheer chemise. “Was shopping one of them?” A slight sneer twisted his lips.

She gave him her most seductive smile. “Oh no, the shopping I did for you. Do you like it?”

As quick as a serpent striking, his hand shot out and fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back. This time he pulled just hard enough to cause pain. “You constantly try my patience, Raven.”

She forced herself not to react, although her smile changed to something slightly more sardonic.

_I’m having an effect on him, and he can’t stand it._

“I’ll take that as a “yes,” she said.

Growling inarticulately, he released her.

“Did the courier return yet from Cyrodiil?” she asked.

He scowled. “Yes. My contact confirms your story.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“There are still some unanswered questions.”

He turned away from her and walked into the dining room, snatching up a bottle of brandy and a goblet as he went, then went on to seat himself in front of the fireplace at the far side of the room.

_I’m starting to learn his tells. Whenever he’s at a loss, he leaves. He probably can’t believe I was telling him the truth, even with confirmation._

Valla chose that moment to descend the stairs, trying to be unobtrusive. Her manner reminded Raven so much of her maidservant from the past that she almost laughed. She’d probably been waiting on the landing above for Mercer to stop threatening her new mistress.

“Valla, would you bring me some tea, please? Mirriam or canis root, whatever’s available.”

The woman looked relieved to have a purpose. “Yes, milady,” she said, and hurried across the room to disappear into the kitchen. Raven went to withdraw a leather bag from her pack, then walked over to join Mercer at the hearth. She dropped the bag into his lap, then sat in the other chair, leaning back and crossing her legs.

Mercer looked down at the bag, eyeing it as if she’d brought him a rat. “What’s this?”

“Your cut, of course. I _am_ still a thief, and you are _still_ my Guildmaster, my lord. Until you tell me otherwise, at least.”

“Delvin figures the cut.”

“You’ll still get a cut of my other goods. And you are welcome to peruse my pack.”

Again the scowl.

_Sithis! How does he shave? Seems he’d be constantly cutting himself with his face twisted like that._

He set the goblet down and opened the bag, then emptied its contents into a bowl on the low table which rested between them. Gems and jewelry tinkled against the silver like bells on a jester’s cap.

The scowl eased somewhat, and for a moment she thought she saw his eyes light with pleasure. It was quickly gone, however. He picked up a flawless emerald, holding it in front of the candle to study.

“That’s my favorite,” she said. “I love emeralds. Diamonds are so… plain to me.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “You are trying to bribe me.”

“Is it working?” she teased. “And pray tell, what am I bribing you for? I am merely showing you what I can do.”

Valla approached cautiously with the tea. Raven turned to her and retrieved it from the silver tray she held. “Thank you, Valla.” She blew across the hot liquid, then sipped. Canis root. Not bad, either. There was a trick to brewing canis root so that it was not so bitter. It was sweetened also. Honey? She sipped again. No. Moon sugar.

_How does he afford such luxury with the Guild doing so poorly?_

She looked back at Mercer, who appeared to be studying her legs. She glanced down, and realized she’d not removed the throwing knives. She uncrossed and turned slightly to give him a better view.

“Do you like them? I found them in Solitude. A rare find, I might add. They bear the Imperial seal. The smith told me he makes them for their scouts.”

He reached out, using the opportunity to slide his hand along her inner thigh, sending a shiver of pleasure up to her center. Then he removed the innermost blade and held it up to examine.

_Fucker. I should have expected that._

He weighed the balance in his hand, then flipped it and threw it, sending it whistling past her ear and embedding it in a support beam near the kitchen door. Raven started, sloshing her tea. He chuckled.

_Arsehole._

“You seem to be quite proficient in their use, my lord. Unless, of course, your intent was to pierce my ear.”

“If I’d meant to hit you, you’d be bleeding now,” he smiled. “Why would you need those?”

“Skyrim is a dangerous land.”

“So it is. Which brings me to the questions unanswered by my contact.”

“I await them with bated breath.”

He gave her the same dangerous smile he’d displayed the morning of her departure. “You’d do well to hide that temper, Raven.”

“I doubt it would do me much good. You would still see it. And I’m not going to hide anything from you, Mercer. I’m not that foolish.”

“A wise decision.” He picked up his drink and lounged back in the chair. “So tell me how a noblewoman, inexperienced in survival, managed to make it through the Pale Pass into Skyrim, then survive — for how many years? — until she showed up in Riften.”

“Ah. Of course. A tale for the bards. For that, we have to go back to the beginning. You see, there was a reason the Elder Council found out about Avienus’ activities. I told them. He was indiscreet enough that I was able to discover his plans, and I saw a way to be rid of him. I spoke to Lord Motierre, of the Elder Council, at a banquet we attended. From his reaction, I gathered that the information meant very much to him personally. He told me to say nothing, that he would handle it. A pointless caution; I certainly wasn’t going to let on to Avienus that I knew anything.”

She paused for a sip of tea. Mercer watched her closely.

“About a week after that, Avienus stormed into the house one evening, accusing me of betraying him. He began to beat me, much more savagely than he ever had before, then pulled a curtain tie from the curtains and used it to strangle me. Or try to, anyway. The assassin the Council hired made a very timely entrance and killed him before he could finish the job.”

“Dark Brotherhood?” Mercer interjected.

“I don’t know. It was my understanding that they were all but wiped out in the conflicts during and after the Great War. He wore dark leather and a mask. That’s all I can say. I was half dead from the beating and strangulation. I wasn’t in any shape to be noticing details. However, I feel it unlikely, because he dragged me outside to a waiting carriage and stuffed me into it, telling me that the driver would take me to safety — that I had proven loyal to the throne and Lord Motierre had arranged it. Somehow I can’t see a member of the Dark Brotherhood doing that, even if paid well. I’ve thought on it since, and it still seems unlikely.”

“Why would Motierre leave you alive? You were a loose end.”

“Indeed. I’ve wondered about that myself. But you must understand that my father was very wealthy and very influential in Bruma — as well as in the Imperial court. Perhaps Motierre feared offending him. Or perhaps he worked out some arrangement with him. Perhaps they were in league together. I simply don’t know. Surely I do not need to tell_ you_ about the intricacies of politics in court life.”

Mercer’s face darkened, and she wondered what it was he was remembering about his own experience.

“Be that as it may, I was taken to the Pale Pass, where I was housed in the garrison on the Cyrodiil side until a troop of soldiers was dispatched to Skyrim, to replace Imperial losses there. I joined them, and they saw me through to Helgen. I do not care to ever experience another trip through that pass. It was horrible, especially as green as I was then.”

“The Captain was taken with me — and he helped me a great deal, even teaching me the basics of fighting — in use of the bow and the dagger. He thought it very amusing, but I was determined to learn, and after he and the other soldiers were dispatched elsewhere, I continued practicing. I moved on to Riverwood, then Whiterun, taking whatever jobs I could to survive. With the exception of whoring. I have never been a whore, nor will I ever be.”

“Yet you no doubt slept with the Captain, as payment for his help.” Mercer gave her a dark smile.

Raven glared at him. “I paid _him_, not the other way round. And if you’re going to split hairs, go ahead. Think what you will. I never took up residence in a whorehouse.”

He chuckled, pleased to have riled her.

She leaned forward. “Tell me that you have no intention of bedding me, my lord. Do you think of me as your whore?”

The amusement left his face and she saw his knuckles whiten on the goblet he held. He set the drink on the low table and rose, then yanked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall next to the fireplace, knocking her chair over. She gasped in pain. Behind him, she saw Valla stop in mid-step, with a food laden tray for their supper held in her hands. She turned around and scurried back to the kitchen.

Mercer held her pinned against the wall. “How long ago?” he snarled.

“What?” She was baffled by what appeared to be a complete change of subject. She’d expected him to beat her for her impudence.

“How long ago did you come to Skyrim?”

“Five winters.”

“And in all that time, you never came to Riften.”

“Why would I? By all accounts, it was the most hellish place in Skyrim.”

“Then why would you choose to do so now?”

“My fortunes have waxed and waned with the war. Jobs are more scarce. More people are starving, destitute. I made my way here because I had to, not because I chose to. I had run out of options.”

“And you thought to use _me_ to improve your situation.”

“If you believe that, then send me back to the Guild. You chose _me_. I didn’t even know you existed until Brynolf took me to you.”

“Why would you not send word to your father for help?”

She scoffed. “Who do you think married me off to that bastard, Avienus? My father doesn’t care for me. He’s more interested in his sons. I was only a bargaining chip, to increase his wealth and power. A plea from a daughter who is blamed for the murder of the son of the man he contracted with would fall on deaf ears. I am fortunate that he allowed me to live — if indeed he was involved in the decision at all.”

“Then tell me why your estate would go to Motierre, rather than to the Camerius or Avienus line.”

She stared at him, shocked. “That’s news to me. How would I know? I was spirited away. Maybe he bought it. Or maybe he took it as part of a bargain made with one of them, so that they might save face.”

He pushed away from her, then began to pace.

“Mercer, why does this mean so much to you? Are you just trying to determine whether I’m telling you the truth? Or do you seek to share in the wealth of my family? If so, you can forget it. I have nothing hidden away, and my father will never take me back.”

He stopped and stared at her, his face carved in stone; eyes like crystals of ice. “Everyone lies. Everyone. I can’t believe that I’ve found-” he stopped.

_He was about to reveal himself. Sithis save me! He was about to say he’d found someone he could trust!_

She walked toward him, slowly. No seduction this time. No tricks. She needed to show him complete loyalty and honesty.

“I understand how hard it is to trust. The scars of betrayal run deep.”

He regarded her with contempt. “What do you know of betrayal?”

“Have you not been listening to me?” Raven snapped. “My entire story is filled with betrayal! Of a daughter betrayed by her father. A wife betrayed by her husband. And a loyal subject betrayed by her country. I uncover a traitor and how am I rewarded? His murder is pinned on me and I am exiled to this--this dung heap of a country!”

His expression did not change, and she could see that she was making no headway.

_He is thinking of the betrayal of love; of Karliah. He won’t reveal that to me. He won’t risk opening his heart to me like that._

She took a deep breath, and stepped closer. “I understand the betrayal of love also. My marriage to Avienus was arranged, but I did love him at first. He was wonderful to me, until we’d said our vows. Then I found my love was not returned. Who was she, Mercer? Who ripped your heart open?”

The contempt changed to rage in a heartbeat. His hand shot out to encircle her throat. He squeezed and she choked, gasping for air, her face twisting up in pain. She went to her knees and he bent with her. “You will not speak of her again, do you understand me? Never!”

Then he released her. She leaned forward, placing one hand on the floor to brace herself as she coughed, struggling to regain her breath, tears streaming down her face.

“I… am...NOT….HER.” She declared between gasps.

He squatted in front of her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back to face him. “Did I not make myself clear?”

She took in one last deep breath and met his rage filled eyes with an anger of her own. “If she stands between us then I will not be silent.”

The rage was replaced by amazement. Whether he was surprised by her defiance or by what she’d said--or both--she could not be sure.

“I am NOT her,” she repeated. “I have not lied to you. I have no need to. And I will not betray you as she did.”

His anger returned. She felt something sharp at her throat, and realized he held her dagger in his hand. She could see the haft, etched with intricate Nordic runes. She’d not even felt him remove it from her boot.

“Kill me, then. Better that than live with a man haunted by a ghost from his past.”

They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity to her. Then she felt the sharpness leave her throat; felt the grip in her hair lighten, then release as he pulled his hand back. As it grazed her jaw she pressed her cheek into it. He stopped and held it there, and she could see that his anger had faded. She thought she saw something like fondness in his eyes, then it was gone. The hard, implacable look was back. He rose and stood, looking down at her for a moment, then he turned away from her and strode for the front door. He opened it and stepped out into the night.

She straightened, sitting back on her heels, and took a deep, cleansing breath.

_Oh, that was a rough one, Nazir. I thought I was dead there for a second._

Valla poked her head out from the kitchen, looking around, her gaze finally settling on Raven.

“Milady?”

“I’m alright. I believe my lord has gone for a walk to clear his head. Keep his supper warm. I’d take another cup of that excellent tea if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course, milady.”

Raven rose slowly from the floor, then stumbled over to right her chair and fall into it. She put her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

_Oh Nazir! This is so hard. I wish you were here to hold me!_


	19. Spectre

Mercer stormed out into the night; grabbing the railing in front of him at the edge of the boardwalk. Except for a few patrolling guards, the city was still and dark; a silent beast, waiting for prey. Growling wordlessly, he pushed himself back from the edge and turned to stalk across one of the bridges, through the empty market, and out of the gate to the docks, stopping only when he’d reached the endmost jetty, to stare out over the black water.

He’d come very close--too close--to killing Raven. He was at a loss to explain why that disturbed him. It had seemed so natural to claim her; another fine gem, a valuable treasure to add to his collection, a beautiful woman to admire and savor, to deliver pleasure at his whim. Not to replace Karliah, but to ease the pain of her memory. But Raven challenged him, infuriated him; stirred in him something he’d thought long dead. She refused to stay on the shelf; compelling him to look back into his past at the spectre which haunted him. She revived the pain--forced him to feel the rage which had burned through him like the fires of Oblivion when Karliah had spurned him; a fury that had almost brought about Raven’s death.

Images, feelings, memories all tumbled through his mind together in a confused mix; Karliah’s lavender eyes; her smooth dark skin, the taste of her mouth on his; Raven’s challenge, the feel of her hands on his chest; her spicy scent filling his nostrils, until he wasn’t sure where one woman began and the other ended. The phantom of the past blended with the living, breathing beauty of the present.

Karliah was still out there, tormenting him, taunting him. If only he could reach her, destroy her--then he would be safe. Then he could move on. But every lead he had followed had run dry. She had just...vanished.

Raven was here. She was real. As far as he had been able to determine, she’d been telling him the truth; and even with her own blade pressed against her throat she’d shown him no fear.

_Kill me, then. Better that than live with a man haunted by a ghost from his past._

Perhaps, just perhaps, she could help rid him of Karliah’s memory.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He opened the front door quietly and stepped in, his eyes scanning the rooms. Raven’s pack was gone from its place by the door, but her coat still hung on the peg. He found that oddly comforting.

The fires had been banked for the night; the candles extinguished except for one on the dining table and the one by the door. He picked it up and moved into the dining room. The bowl into which he had emptied the gems now rested in the center of the table. The precious stones supported a slip of parchment. He picked it up and read the words written on it.

_Your supper is in the covered pot on the kitchen hearth._

The words were inscribed in a fine hand, the letters well formed, but not flowery. She’d used the Cyrodiilic alphabet rather than Ehlnofex-Nordic runescript. He was reminded that she was a noble’s daughter, not a commoner raised in a pigsty.

He lay the note beside the bowl and ran his fingers through the gemstones to find the emerald she had commented on earlier. It was perfect; flawless; a beautiful find. He wondered where she’d found it. She could have kept it for herself and he would never have known. Yet she had given it to him. He frowned, wondering at her intent.

He closed his hand over the precious gem and stepped into his office to lock it in his strongbox.

Before seeking his supper he mounted the stairs to the upper floor, wanting to be sure that she was indeed still there. The door was cracked just a few inches, as if in invitation. He pushed it open quietly, peering into the darkened room, then walked silently across the carpet to her bed. By the light of the fire and the candle he held in his hand, he could see her lying curled among the pillows and blankets, one bare arm and shoulder exposed. Her black hair was tumbled around her head as if she’d been tossing and turning in her sleep. Now she stirred, turning toward him, frowning. He could see the dark spot on her throat where his fingers had dug into her flesh. He scowled, as irritated with her for provoking him as he was with himself for marking her. Then he turned and made his way back down the stairs to the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven came down to breakfast the next morning in her Guild armor, carrying her pack with the stolen goods she planned on turning in to Vex and Delvin. She set her load down by the door and went to join Mercer at the table in the dining room. Valla was re-filling his goblet with wine. Raven wondered if he ever drank anything else.

Valla then filled a mug with tea and Raven thanked her, taking a sip before even sitting down. She slid into her seat, surveying the repast, then helped herself to fried potatoes, glazed apples, bacon and bread.

Mercer remained silent, watching her.

“Good morning, my lord.”

He grunted.

_Such a pleasant man. I wonder if we’re going to pick up where we left off last night. I hope he lets me eat something before he starts yanking me around._

She decided that silence was the better part of valor and dug into her food. It really was good. Valla was an excellent cook. She felt certain that was the reason Mercer had hired her. It certainly wasn’t for her looks; but she felt the woman was fortunate in that. She wouldn’t have to suffer his attention in the bedroom.

Raven wondered how long he would wait before he would try to bed her; and whether or not she would be able to derive any pleasure from it. She suppressed a shudder, remembering Sapphire’s reaction. Then she sent a mental apology to Nazir that she would even think of taking pleasure from Mercer’s…

_What the fuck am I even thinking?_

She endured his silent stare until she’d cleared her plate, then picked up her second mug of tea and sipped it, returning his gaze over the top of her mug.

“Finished?” he asked, as if he’d been inconvenienced, waiting for her, although he’d been eating his own meal as well.

“Yes, thank you. It was very good.”

“Good. I have a job for you.”

A number of witty rejoinders fought for dominance behind her lips but she suppressed them. She didn’t feel like being throttled or slammed up against a wall again. “What would you like me to do?”

“You probably already know that our most influential client in Riften is Maven Black-Briar. She owns the Black-Briar meadery.”

Raven nodded.

“She purchases honey from Goldenglow Estate, which is a bee farm located on an island in the middle of Lake Honrich. The owner, Aringoth, has decided not to sell to her anymore, and Maven wants us to teach him a lesson by burning three of the estate’s hives. She also wants us to infiltrate the estate and search for any clue as to why he’s suddenly decided to shut her out. The information will likely be in his safe, if it’s anywhere. I want you to head over there tonight as soon as it’s dark.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Don’t be too sure of that. Aringoth has hired a number of mercenaries to guard the place--as well as his own arse. Vex has already fucked this up. I’m expecting you to deliver.”

Raven feigned surprise. “Vex couldn’t do it? She told me she was the best.”

Mercer snorted derisively. “She’s a cocky bitch, but she’s not the best.”

Raven suppressed a smile. “Am I allowed to kill the mercenaries?”

“Be my guest. But keep Aringoth alive. And be sure you only burn three of the hives. That honey is too important to Maven.”

“I’ll need my dagger back.”

He withdrew it from his belt and handed it to her, hilt first. She accepted it, careful not to cut him as she took it from his grasp. “I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” He left the threat unspoken. She wondered what he’d do if she failed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They walked over to the Guild’s secret entrance together. Mercer shut the tomb behind them and climbed down the ladder first, then caught her pack when she dropped it, which surprised her, and set it aside. Then she realized the reason for his supposed gallantry. Naturally he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to fondle her arse as she climbed down; in the interest of keeping her from falling, of course.

“Go take care of your business. Then I want you back here.” He walked toward his desk.

_Yeah. So you can keep an eye on me._

She sighed, slung her pack over one shoulder, then walked toward the Flagon door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Flagon was filled with the usual denizens. Vekel held court at the bar, talking to Brynjof and Cynric. Tonilla perched on her crate on the platform over the water. Dirge stood fast at his post on the ramp by the sign which proclaimed the tavern’s name. Delvin worked quietly at his table, making notations in his ledger. She could see Vex, seated at the table near her usual spot. She thought the woman looked rather pale, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. If she’d been wounded as badly as Sapphire had said, then certainly she would still be weak from her injuries.

She settled up with Delvin first, then walked over to join Vex. Brynjolf turned on his barstool to watch her as she walked past. She dropped her right eyelid briefly in a sly wink.

Vex glared irritably up at her, following her with her eyes as she seated herself at the table. “I trust you have good news,” she snarled.

Raven upended her pack, spilling stolen valuables across the table. “It’s all there.”

Vex tallied everything, moving it all over into an open crate for distribution later. Then she handed over Raven’s pay, rather grudgingly, as if she didn’t quite believe Raven had managed to pull it all off.

“Okay, I’ve got a few more for you,” she said.

“Not yet, Mercer’s given me the Goldenglow job. I want to get through that first.”

Vex stared at her in astonishment. “Mercer gave the job to _you_?”

Raven ignored the implied insult. “Yes. I was hoping you could offer a little advice. I understand you ran into some trouble. I’d like to avoid it if I can.”

Vex’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, you could call it that. That wood elf halfwit is a lot smarter than I expected. The bastard had almost tripled the guard. There were at least eight of them in there--and that’s not counting the ones on the outside. You’ll have your work cut out for you. Good luck with that.”

Clearly she wasn’t impressed with Raven’s abilities.

“Is there an easy way to get into the estate without the outside guards seeing me?”

“Well, there's an old sewer tunnel that dumps into the lake on the northwest side of the island. That's how I slipped in there. Should still be unguarded."

Raven thought that unlikely. “Where does it come out?”

“It’ll take you right to the front door.”

_Well how the fuck does that help?_

“Thanks. How’re you feeling, anyway? Sapphire said you got cut up pretty bad.”

Vex glared at her. “Mind your own damn business, why don’t you.”

Raven sighed and straightened. “I’ll do that. When you get that burr out of your arse let me know.” She reached for the strap on her pack and rose to leave. Vex’s eyes widened in surprise, and Brynjolf covered his mouth and turned back to the bar. Raven thought she heard him snort.


	20. Offering to Sithis

Raven reached for the next arrow and dipped it into the bowl containing the poison, then laid it straight next to the others lying on the dresser, drying, tips hanging over the edge so the deadly liquid wouldn’t soak into the wood. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mercer step into her room. He walked over to watch her.

“Paralytic?” he asked.

“Yes.” She reached for the next arrow. “Better when ingested but this will do for my purposes.”

“Where did you acquire it?”

She lied smoothly. “The court wizard in Windhelm sold it to me. Seems he has a fondness for poisons.”

Mercer grunted. “Now just how did you manage to get in to see the court wizard?”

She laid the last arrow out to dry and smiled at him. “One of the food vendors in the market had a basket of nightshade for him. I very kindly offered to deliver it.”

He tilted his head back slightly, regarding her thoughtfully. “Surely you’re not planning on shooting every mercenary in the compound?”

“Oh no. I’m guessing when I light the hives, most of them are going to be very busy trying to avoid the bees.

He frowned. “That won’t hold them forever. You’ll be fighting them on your way out.”

“Only if they can find me.”

“Don’t get overconfident, Raven.”

She turned to face him fully and stepped closer. “Is that concern I hear in your voice, my lord?”

His face twisted into its usual scowl. “Yes. A concern for the information we need. I need it delivered into my hands, not lost on your corpse.”

“If there is anything to find, you’ll have it by dawn.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He turned and stomped out of her room.

_Bastard._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  
Raven made a slow circuit of the island in the skiff she’d borrowed from the fishery before ever attempting to land. The estate was brightly lit by torches, and she could clearly see the sellswords moving about their assigned rounds. The light interfered with their night vision and they could not see her out in the water beyond the circle of light.

_Fools._

A tall palisade surrounded the southern edge in a half circle, bisected by a gate at the bridge from the mainland. Dimly she could see two archers patrolling along the barrier. The rest appeared to be swordsmen or axemen. She dipped the paddle quietly into the water and drifted under the bridge; around to the side where the apiaries were located. There were no men near the hives and she guessed that they were afraid of the bees. So was she, for that matter. Steering the skiff in close to the rocks which projected up from the water, she brought it to a stop with the paddle pushed against a boulder, then climbed out, anchoring it by wrapping the rope at its bow around a projection in the stone.

Drawing an arrow from her quiver, she climbed the rocks, moving along toward a torch that was attached to a pole rising above the palisade. She tested the direction of the wind, then stuck the arrow in the flames, nocked it to her bow and sent it into the hive just left of center. The breeze would carry the flames to the next two, and hopefully not ignite the others. Then she climbed down, got into the boat and used the paddle to push herself back into the darkness.

No alarm was raised yet. The flames hadn’t had time to catch. She allowed the skiff to drift toward the house end of the island. Sure enough, she could see a man guarding the entrance into the sewer. Suddenly he peered into the darkness and she knew that somehow, he’d been alerted to her presence. She lay flat in the boat. There was a yell from the direction of the apiaries. She sat up, nocked the bow and sent an arrow flying at the sellsword as he turned toward the sound. He bellowed in pain, stiffened and fell over.

Propelling the boat forward, she leaped ashore and dragged the skiff into the shadow of the rocks. Then she slit the man’s throat to finish the job. With a quick look around to see that the others were still occupied, she propped his corpse up in a sitting position against the stone and stepped onto his shoulders to boost herself onto the island proper. The door to the house was right in front of her, but she ignored it in favor of climbing to the roof via a covered walkway which ran right next to the building.

She’d lied to Mercer. She did intend on killing every single mercenary. She had no intention of dealing with them on her way out or having them join the others inside. Besides, she felt Sithis was due a few souls.

The first few went down easily. Occupied with trying to avoid the bees, they were in total disarray. They weren’t dead, but the paralysis poison was long acting--she should have time to take them at her leisure once all had been dealt with.

Then they began to realize someone was taking them down one by one. Not long after that they deduced that someone was on the roof. She was able to take three more down as they ran toward the house; then one of them with some sense ordered that they take cover and work their way in more stealthily. It was difficult to count them, but she guessed there were at least a half a dozen left, including the two archers. She’d lost track of the archers and this worried her.

She moved quietly back and forth across the roof, trying to line up a shot as they moved from cover to cover--as well as making it more difficult for the archers to get a fix on her. An arrow chunked into a wooden shingle near her boot and she backed up over the peak of the roof.

_Too close!_

Then she spotted a man as he made a dash from a stack of barrels toward the chicken coop. She darted out and sunk a shaft into his chest. He stumbled, then stiffened and fell.

At that moment, she felt something strike her upper left thigh. She looked down to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from it, blood already beginning to seep from the wound. Then she fell as her leg gave way, rolled down the roof and landed with a loud thump on the roof of the walkway. The flimsy covering collapsed and she and the splintered wood made the rest of the journey to the ground below.

She lay for a moment, trying to catch her breath and force her vision back into focus.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

“I’m gonna slit your belly like an old woman’s purse!”

She didn’t even think about it. She pulled one of the throwing knives out of its sheath and tossed it as the man raised his axe over her. Then she rolled, screaming in pain as the arrow in her thigh ground against the dirt. The man’s axe embedded itself into the ground where she’d been and the man followed it, already dead.

_Thank you, Babette!_

The poison on the knives was far more potent than the paralytic on the arrows, courtesy of her little sister.

The bow was gone. She was down to her dagger and five knives. She could see the last two men running toward her--at least she hoped they were the last--except for the archers. She pulled herself up, using the chicken coop as a prop. The chickens had vacated quickly. She could hear them squawking in protest somewhere beyond the torchlight. Balanced against the coop, she drew two of the knives as two more arrows sunk into the roof of the hutch. When the men were close enough that she couldn’t possibly miss, she threw them. They kept coming for a moment as if they didn’t realize they were dead, then fell.

_Now the archers. The worse for last. Fuck me._

She ducked under the coop and pulled a potion from her pouch, the palliative she’d been sipping from earlier. She downed a good gulp of it this time, to kill the pain in her leg. While it was going to work, she picked up one of the loosely woven nests and held it out to one side of the coop. An arrow pierced it and buried itself in the ground, giving her an idea of the direction the bowman was in.

A pleasant glow began to settle over her. Before she could lose her nerve, she pushed the arrow the rest of the way through her thigh and snapped off the end. She screamed again. Even the pain potion couldn’t dull the results of that effort. She pulled the arrow out. She’d rather have kept it in, to staunch the bleeding, but she needed mobility--and the movement of the arrow in her muscle would limit that. Pulling a piece of cloth brought for the purpose from her pouch, she tied it tightly above the wound to slow the blood loss. Then she clambered to her feet and ran clumsily to the next shelter, a stack of crates.

The archers were looking for her. She could hear them trading comments as they worked their way toward the coop.

“Come on out, bitch! I know you’re there!”

His companion chuckled. Then one of them appeared around the side of the coop, pointing his bow where she had been moments before.

“Where the fuck did she go?” The other joined him and they looked around cautiously. The one who had aimed his bow at the coop was backing toward her. She ran forward and looped an arm around his forehead, yanking his head back and bringing her dagger up to slice his throat. His friend saw her and panicked, letting fly. His arrow sunk into his friend’s chest and the man screamed and slumped. Raven let him fall, then threw her dagger. It sunk to the hilt in the man’s eye and he dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

She didn’t stop to rest. She began limping around the compound, seeking out those who were only paralized and slitting throats. One man was already dead, probably of heart failure, she guessed. She could see one body near the hives, but didn’t approach. Bees crawled over his corpse, and she surmised that they’d killed him. Three of the hives were gone, burned so quickly they’d not even had time to ignite the damp grass and floral undergrowth.

She staggered back to the house, retrieving her throwing knives as she went. She found the Elven bow amidst the wreckage of the fallen roof from the walkway, as well as most of the arrows left from her quiver, which still hung, empty, from her back. She’d need all of them, as well as the knives, to use against the men inside the house.

_Now the door. Sithis, give me strength. I hope this is worth it._


	21. Infiltration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s no evidence in the game that Mercer can use a healing spell. He carries healing potions and uses those. But he casts some sort of spell to make the ledge on which the Dragonborn is standing in the last scene of Blindsighted fall, a frenzy type spell on Brynolf so he’ll attack Karliah, another spell to shatter the pipes in the chamber, as well as an invisibility spell (although that’s probably his Shadowcloak). So I don’t believe it’s much of a stretch that he can use healing spells, considering his Breton origins. I ask the reader to suspend their disbelief long enough to accept that.

The door took longer to breach than usual; she felt foggy from the potion and her hands wouldn’t quite work right. She could still feel some pain in her leg and it made it difficult to crouch in front of the lock. She was worried. She’d have to work fast. The blood loss and the potion would combine to weaken her until she lost consciousness. Once the door was open, she drew the bow and nocked an arrow, then crossed the parlor and crept quietly down the hallway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. Another hall branched off to the right and she followed it, past a dining room, then on to the end where she was forced to turn left. So far so good.

Here a common room was situated at the back of the dining room. Ahead of her she could see a man seated at a table with his back to her. She lifted the bow and let fly. When he slumped, another sellsword jumped up from his chair on the other side of the table. She barely managed to nock another arrow and send it into his chest before he reached her.

She heard the pounding of running feet next, and nocked another arrow, leaning against the left side of the door jamb for support. A man rounded the corner at full speed and she fired again, missing him entirely. She dropped the bow, fumbling at the sheathes which held the knives as he barreled toward her; finally managing to pull one of the blades with fingers slicked in blood.

Before she could throw it he reached her, slamming her to the floor. They grappled, and she managed to scratch him with the knife. He began to convulse, his eyes rolling back in his head. Her strength waning, she twisted underneath him, pushing at him and trying to move his twitching body off of her enough so that she could get up. Her vision tunneled for a moment, then cleared. She managed to free herself enough to get to her knees. She cut his throat to finish him. Then she crawled over to the nearest table and pulled herself up. After resting there for a moment, she went back to retrieve the bow and slung it across her back. Dagger in hand, she staggered on, taking the next left, then right into another room.

A man sat dozing in a chair outside a set of double doors. As quietly as she could manage, she walked up to him. He jerked awake just before she sliced across his throat, then fell to the floor, gurgling. She tried the doors. Locked. She picked up the man’s axe and with great effort, broke the hasp and pushed the doors open.

Covered in blood, limping, hair matted and tangled from her struggles, eyes narrowed and mouth stretched in a rictus grin, she must have presented a terrifying sight to Aringoth. He recoiled, crying out in terror.

“Did you think we wouldn’t come for you, Aringoth? You’re dead where you stand.”

“No! No don’t kill me!”

“Give me the keys to your safe.”

He fumbled in his pocket and threw them at her.

“Now tell me where it is.”

“In the basement! Just don’t kill me, please! I’ll do anything Maven asks!”

“Yes. You will. Or I’ll be back.” Then she turned the axe she still held around to the blunt edge and hit him over the head. He fell forward with a dull thump. She checked to see that he still breathed, picked up the keys and returned the way she came, to make her way down to the basement.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She didn’t remember much of the trip back. Her body functioned by instinct. She remembered tucking the papers from the safe in her pouch, and she remembered falling into the boat. The next thing she knew she was waking up on Mercer’s dining table with him pulling her breeches off.

Her jacket and boots had already been removed. She cried out in pain as he jostled her leg. He lifted his hands, pooling magicka, then cast. She saw the golden light of a healing spell spring into being. She hadn’t been aware that he had mastery of the arcane, but she was in no shape to question it at the moment.

“Hold still,” he said. Then he wrapped his hands around her thigh over the wounds. She gasped as a warm feeling of well-being spread up from her leg through her body.

_Oh, thank Sithis._

He released her, then examined the result. He nodded at Valla, who’d been standing by nervously. She stepped forward and began to wash the blood away with a rag dipped in hot water.”

The relief was short lived. Raven’s body tightened, then shuddered. She shivered, feeling an ache that began in her jaw and traveled down to her toes. Mercer reached for her jacket and tucked it around her. It helped, but she knew it wasn’t cold that was making her shake. She was reacting to blood loss and the stress of her experience, as well as too much of the potion. She could feel the craving for more. Babette had warned her not to take it in excess. But she didn’t see how she could have made it without something to kill the pain.

Valla finished, and Mercer scooped Raven up in his arms and climbed the stairs to her room with his servant following. Valla pulled the covers back, and Mercer laid Raven down, then pulled the blankets up to her chin.

“Watch her,” he said to Valla, then walked quickly out the door. He returned shortly, with a small bottle and a spoon in his hands. He filled the spoon, and offered it to Raven. “Open your mouth.”

“No, I shouldn’t take any more.”

“I said open your mouth,” he commanded. “This is a sleeping draught. You need to sleep.”

She took the proffered dose, then gagged at the taste. Valla poured water from a pitcher on the dresser into a goblet and handed it to Mercer, who lifted Raven’s head and helped her to drink.

For once, Mercer wasn’t scowling at her. She was beginning to fade from the draught, but she thought she could see the concern in his eyes, mixed with the same fondness she’d noted when she’d pressed her cheek into his palm...how long ago? She’d lost all sense of time. Her eyes closed, and she forced them open, trying to focus on him. It was important that she remain awake...she needed to see…

She felt his hand rest gently on her cheek, felt him smooth his thumb over her temple.

“Sleep now, Raven,” his voice was soothing. “You are safe here.”

Her eyes closed again.

_Oh this has got to be an insane dream. I’m hearing Nazir’s voice but he has Mercer’s face._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer spoke to Valla. “Return to your duties. I’ll let you know when I need you.”

“Yes milord.” The woman left quickly.

He pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat, then pulled Raven’s pouch from his jacket and opened it, removing the papers she’d tucked inside. Most were irrelevant; letters, bills of sale for minor items, notes of accounting; but he finally found the one damning piece of evidence. He read it through.

_Aringoth,_

_This document acknowledges the sale of Goldenglow Estate and all property, assets and materials contained within. Payment for the property has been made in full by Gaju-Lei as an agent on behalf of the buyer. All dealings with the Thieves Guild in Riften are to cease immediately. To deter any possible retribution for this act, you are to take immediate steps to protect our assets in any way you see fit. I think you’ll find that the Thieves Guild is far more bark than bite and will likely avoid Goldenglow Estate rather than thin their already dwindling numbers. Good luck, and may this be the start of a long and lucrative partnership._

He stared at the letter, enraged. Reading between the lines, the sale was a clear attack on the Guild. Maven was going to be furious, and it was important for her to remain an ally until he was able to bring his plans to fruition. He had to find out who the buyer was. There was some agenda here, something he must put a stop to quickly. The only lead was this ‘Gaju-Lei’. Something about the name was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d heard it before. He’d have to put out feelers among his contacts.

He returned his gaze to Raven. Her face had smoothed in slumber, making her seem younger, even more lovely, despite her smudged face and disheveled hair. He chuckled softly. She was definitely more bite than bark; much more than Aringoth had been prepared for. In spite of the odds, in spite of her injury, she had returned to him triumphant, with the information he needed.

_Sleep well, my little death spider._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven slept well into the afternoon, finally waking from the pain of a massive headache. She groaned, rolled onto her side and pushed herself up, placing her bare feet carefully on the carpet. The soft strands felt like needles. Every movement was torture; every sound seemed to echo in her ears.

_Oh Sithis. Take me now--I am ready. Death _must _be better than this._

“Milady? Are you alright?”

Raven winced, the movement sending more pain knifing through her skull. She looked over to see Valla standing in the doorway, a look of concern on her face.

“Nothing that death wouldn’t cure,” Raven responded. “I have a headache the size of Skyrim. Bring me some canis root tea. Two cubes this time.”

The woman turned and hurried back down the stairs. The tea must have been ready, for she returned quickly with an entire pot of the stuff, and a small bowl of moon sugar besides. She poured a mug, dropped two cubes in, stirred it and held it out to Raven.

“You’re a gift from the gods, Valla.” Raven took the tea in trembling hands and began to sip it slowly.

Valla seated herself cautiously in the chair beside the bed, as if she were afraid she were overstepping her bounds.

Raven studied her. She seemed to be Nord; she had the big-boned, hardy look of one, with fair skin, red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her homely face. It was hard to judge her age, probably around forty winters, but hard working common women aged quickly in this land. She could have been younger.

“Did Merc--my lord--ask you to watch over me?”

“Yes milady. Or rather, to check on you often. He seems…” she trailed off, blushing, as if she were about to reveal an indiscretion.

“He seems what?” asked Raven, her curiosity piqued. The tea was cooling and she took a larger drink of it. The sugar was taking the edge off the pain.

Valla looked down at her hands, which were twisting nervously in her lap. Raven found it hard to believe that this woman was that timid. She had to be strong to serve such a hard master. Mercer obviously had her cowed.

“He seems worried about you, milady,” she said, so softly that Raven had to strain to hear. “He was very upset when you turned up on the doorstep, bleeding…I have never seen him like that.”

“Really,” Raven responded, surprised. “Well, neither have I, as a matter of fact.”

Valla looked up at her and Raven smiled. Valla gave her a small smile in response, then lowered her eyes again.

“How long have you served him?

“About six winters, Milady.”

“That’s a long time. You know what he is, don’t you? What we are?”

“Yes milady.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Valla looked at her directly again. “I have a family to feed, milady. Milord pays very well.”

“I’ll just bet he does... What has he told you about me?”

Valla gave her a puzzled look. “Just that...you are to be treated with great respect...and that if you are displeased with me...then he will be displeased as well.”

Raven was surprised again. “Well, you needn’t be worried about my displeasure, Valla. I am easy to please. As long as you keep brewing this wonderful tea, I shall be very happy.”

Valla smiled, more broadly this time.

“And where is our master now?” Raven asked. She intended the question to inform Valla that she was subject to Mercer’s whims also.

“He has gone to the Guild, milady.”

“You mean he left us to our own devices? If I didn’t feel like a sack of troll dung right now I’d say break out the wine and let’s have a party.”

Valla gave her an astonished look and then snorted. She immediately looked chastened. “Forgive me milady.”

“It’s quite alright, Valla. You may laugh in my presence if you wish. The gods know there’s little enough of that in this house.”

The woman smiled at her. “If I may be so bold, milady, I am glad you are here, although I do fear for you sometimes.”

“Don’t, Valla. I can take anything my lord cares to dish out.”

They sat in companionable silence while Raven finished her tea. Then she handed the mug off to Valla. “Make me another cup, then if you would be so kind, go draw a bath for me. I think I need it.”

“With pleasure, milady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The death spider is a creature native to High Rock, Mercer’s homeland. Found only in ESO.


	22. Tenzoriou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEX AND GRAPHIC LANGUAGE AHEAD!

Raven felt more human after her bath. Valla helped her wash her hair and attend to her other grooming chores, although she seemed a bit appalled by the shaving, as if her mistress were breaking some religious stricture. But Raven, still weak, could not have done without her.

Valla saw her safely back up the stairs to her room, then went to attend to supper. Mercer would be making an appearance soon. Raven opened the wardrobe and considered what she should wear. She finally decided on soft brown leggings and a long-sleeved linen tunic the color of wine. She slid her feet into fur lined slippers.

Comfort was what she needed now. The headache had faded, but her body ached. Her thigh, though healed, alternated between throbbing and stinging, and her back was tender from the fall off the roof, protesting every movement she made. A number of other bruises and sprains had made their presence known after the relaxation of the bath. She prayed that Mercer wouldn’t be in one of his bashing moods.

She found the brace of throwing knives on the dresser, and the Elven bow hung from a plaque over the mantle. She would have to return the bow. The knives had not been touched, they were still covered in dried blood, as was the leather sheath which held them. She decided to clean them later, when she felt better.

The light from the windows was fading, and she realized it was almost Mercer’s time. With a sigh of resignation, she descended the stairs. Valla was setting the table. She looked up and smiled at her.

“I’ve put some pillows in your chair, milady. Go and warm yourself by the fire.”

Raven walked over to the hearth and seated herself gingerly.

“Thank you, Valla. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Valla finished with the table and walked over to her. “Your back is nothing but bruises, milady.”

Raven was aware she’d seen every mark on her body in the bath. The woman had said nothing, but Raven had known she was distressed.

“There is a salve the Alchemist makes, which would help with the healing. If Milord permits, perhaps we could go see him tomorrow.”

“I don’t care whether my lord permits or not. I’d welcome your company.”

A look of concern crossed Valla’s face. “I’d not want to risk him beating you again…”

Raven looked at her in surprise. “Oh he didn’t beat me, Valla. I fell off a roof.”

“Oh, thank the Lady Mara!”

Raven lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh! That didn’t come out the way I meant at all!” Valla was completely flustered, and Raven laughed. “I meant I’m so glad he didn’t beat you! I thought perhaps...when I wasn’t here…”

“No, you’ve seen the worst of what he’s done to me. I’m in such bad shape because I was doing a job for him — and that’s all you need to know.”

“Yes, milady.” She looked chastened again.

At that moment they both heard heavy footsteps coming from the basement stairs. Valla cast a worried look over her shoulder and turned hastily to go back to the kitchen. She returned just as quickly with the first tray of food.

Mercer appeared at the top of the stairs and Raven rose painfully to meet him. He paused near the banister, unbuckling his armor; watching her, his face impassive, as she approached. Valla set the tray on the table and went to take the jacket to hang on one of the pegs by the door.

He walked the last few feet between them and looked her over. “How do you feel?”

She was startled by his apparent concern. “I’m just sore, thank you.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to rest. I’m waiting for my contacts to respond about the information you brought me.”

“Exactly what did I bring you? I wasn’t in any shape to do any reading last night.”

“A bill of sale and a name. Aringoth sold Goldenglow to someone, and the name belonged to the go-between who brokered the deal. Gaju-Lei. That name mean anything to you?”

Raven shook her head. “Sounds Argonian.”

Mercer nodded in agreement. “I’ve put out some feelers to my contacts, to see if anyone can identify him.”

She remembered him saying that Maven wanted clues as to why Aringoth had shut off the supply of honey. So, while Raven had uncovered a clue, she hadn’t really found any answers.

He moved toward the table and she walked around it to seat herself on the other side. He sat and began to help himself to the food Valla had laid out. Raven spotted the stew and ladled some into a bowl. There wasn’t very much of it to be had.

“Do you want some of this?” she asked.

Mercer sneered. “No. Stew is for commoners.”

Now she understood why Valla hadn’t made very much. “Well, it’s easy on the stomach and just what I need right now,” she said tartly. “Perhaps my lord would prefer that I eat in the kitchen?”

He paused with his fork on his way to his mouth and glared at her. She beamed at him in return. Then, to her surprise and discomfort, he gave her a sinister smile, as if he’d just thought of some particularly wicked deed.

“You’ll stay right where you are. I’ll deal with you later.”

Her smile faded. She shifted uncomfortably.

He snorted softly, amused at her reaction, then went back to eating.

_I really need to watch my mouth. I wonder what punishment he’s thought of._

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Raven savored the rich stew, dipping bits of soft bread into the broth like a field hand, daring Mercer to comment on her manners. She found herself growing sleepy toward the end, in spite of the tea she’d been sipping. The loss of a night’s sleep had not been entirely relieved by the long nap she’d taken. She felt exhausted.

Finally Mercer put down his fork, wiped his mouth on his napkin and rose from the table. He took a goblet from the shelf and a bottle from the liquor cabinet and started for the stairs to the upper floor.

“Join me, Raven,” he said in a tone that indicated she had no choice in the matter.

Valla had come in to clear the table and the two women exchanged glances. Valla’s concern was evident in her expression.

“Thank you for the stew, Valla. It was just what I needed.”

The woman smiled and nodded, then jumped as Mercer’s voice cracked like thunder across the room.

“Raven!”

_Sithis take you, bastard._

Not without some trepidation, she went to follow him up the stairs. The bedroom could only mean one thing. Of all times to choose, he had to wait until she was so sore and weak it would be torture. She struggled to remember where she was in her cycle. How risky was it? The last thing she wanted was a child from this man. She calculated that she was very close to starting her moon blood, so she was probably safe--but afterward she’d take one of Gabriella’s potions to be sure.

He walked into his bedroom. She hesitated at the door. He set the bottle and cup down on an end table and crouched in front of the hearth to stir the fire up. “Shut the door.”

She was pretty sure he meant for her to shut it with her on the inside, but she was strongly tempted to do the opposite. She stepped inside and closed it softly, feeling fear growing inside her. At full strength she wouldn’t have been so worried, but she was far from that, and she’d pissed him off with her earlier barb.

He pulled a twig from the pile of wood by the fireplace, ignited it in the fire and went around the room lighting candles. Then he tossed it into the fire and poured brandy into the goblet. Sipping, he pointed to the floor in front of him.

“Over here.”

Her fear vanished in a flood of anger. She controlled herself, just barely.

_I’m not your hound._

“I won’t say it again.” The menacing tone of his voice brought her up short. She was in no shape to be fighting him. She walked over to stand in the indicated spot, trying to keep her face neutral. She could see the amusement in his eyes.

He reached out to pull the lacing loose at the top of her tunic. “Take it off.”

She fought with herself. She’d been working toward seducing him, and now it seemed she’d been successful, so why was she so reluctant? Never mind the state of her body--why was she fighting it?

_Because I’m not the one in control. He is. And that scares the shit out of me._

Slowly she pulled the tunic up over her head and tossed it on the bed behind him. He took a long drink of the brandy, then set the goblet aside. Then he grasped her around the waist and turned her so he could see her back.

“As I thought,” he said. “This is more than just sore. Why wouldn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t help you?”

She felt warmth at her back, saw the glow of the healing spell surrounding her. She cried out in relief and surprise as her body was engulfed in golden light. She was caught completely off guard, never expecting him to be gentle with her.

“The bruises will take time to fade,” he said. “But this should make you feel better. How’s the thigh?”

“It still hurts.”

“Are you sure you got all of the arrowhead out?”

“It was steel--it appeared to be whole, but it was pretty bloody--hard to see.”

He slid his hands down and gave her thigh another jolt with the spell--it felt different this time, as if he were using a different charm. The throbbing stopped.

“That feels better.”

“Let me know if it starts to hurt again.”

“I will. Thank you.” She felt embarrassed, no—not embarrassed—uncertain. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this new Mercer. Then he took her by the hair and pulled her head back painfully.

“Speak to me like that in front of Valla again and you’ll be _begging_ me to heal you.”

_Ah, there he is._

She laughed in relief.

He scowled. “Did I say something funny?” he growled at her.

“No, I thought I’d lost you. You’ve never been this nice to me before. I was wondering where the real Mercer was.”

He stared at her, his gaze softening, his mouth quirking into a slight smile. Then he turned her back to face him and kissed her; completely different from the first time. _Now_ there was passion in his eyes. The hand in her hair relaxed, and she felt his other hand slide around her waist to press her against him. She could feel him, hard under his leathers. She slid her arms around his chest, running her hands up his back.

He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Get out of those clothes,” he said. “I want to taste you. I think I’ve waited long enough.”

He released her. She shivered, part in fear, part anticipation, as she stepped out of her slippers and unlaced the leggings. He watched as she slid them down her legs along with her lacy smalls, then stepped out of them and tossed them on the chair. She pulled her breast band off slowly. He removed his tunic and sat to pull his boots off, then unlaced his leathers. His thick cock stood out straight as he pushed them down.

_Not bad._

Taking her by the waist, he guided her over to the bed to sit on the edge, then pulled a pillow off the bed to throw on the floor for his knees. He pressed her shoulders down onto the bed. “Spread ‘em wide for me, Raven. I want to see all of you.”

She complied, propping herself up on her elbows so she could see him. He sat back on his heels, admiring the view; sliding his hands up her smooth legs and across her thighs, then spreading her folds wide to see her entrance. He inserted his tongue and she gasped in pleasure. Then he pulled back the sheath which protected her bud and applied his tongue there instead, massaging her with short, steady strokes.

She cried out, letting her elbows slide out from under her, lying back on the bed; abandoning herself to his ministrations, utterly shocked at his skill, as well as his desire to even perform such an activity. She’d pegged him as someone who wouldn’t care about his partner, seeking only to please himself. She felt her juices running down her buttocks, and he began to alternate between sucking them up and stroking her bud. Each time he left it she felt a profound regret, and each time he returned the pleasure intensified, until she was nearly mindless with rapture. Incoherent sounds of ecstasy issued from her mouth. She felt his free hand slide across her belly and up to play with her nipples, which were as hard as tiny stones. He twisted and pinched, adding a level of bliss she’d never thought possible.

She could feel the burning begin, the heat which she knew heralded her orgasm. She began to twitch and jerk uncontrollably, breathing rapidly, straining for release. He lifted his head from between her thighs and rose to move her higher on the bed.

“No, no, no...please don’t stop!” she pleaded.

He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed to hover over her. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet.” He pulled at another pillow and lifted her hips, placing it under them to improve the angle. Then he pulled at his foreskin and angled his cock down to place at her warm, wet entrance. He pushed forward firmly, entering her slowly.

She watched as he closed his eyes, lifting his head, a look of supreme enjoyment on his face. In spite of her thwarted desire, she marveled at the complete change in his features. She’d never thought he could express such joy-or even feel it.

His eyes opened again and fastened on hers. “Gods, you’re tight, Raven.” He thrust more strongly, and she felt him finally enter her completely; felt his balls smack against her buttocks and then rest there as he drew in a deep breath, collecting himself, before he began stroking inside her.

He reached for her wrists and held her pinned to the bed. “Talk to me, Raven. Tell me when I find that spot. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

She closed her eyes, concentrating on how he was making her feel. No lover had ever asked this of her, not even...Nazir...she felt a jolt of guilt as she thought of him for the first time, astounded that he was not uppermost in her mind as she lay here with another man.

“Talk to me, Raven.” His command was a little deeper this time, a little stronger.

“I feel...full...you’re so thick, so hard…” she twisted her pelvis, arching her back, “there, I can feel you rubbing across that place inside me that feels so good…”

He increased the speed and strength of his strokes, instinctively following the new slant of her hips.

“Ummm...yes, that burns...ahhh...yes, don’t stop, please, faster...you’re making it feel so good…” She moved her hips, thrusting against him rhythmically. “Only your cock can reach that place,” she moaned, “an itch I can’t scratch, a fire I can’t put out...oh gods…”

She heard him groan and she opened her eyes, fearful that he might finish before her release, but he kept on, relentless determination on his face.

“Come for me, Raven,” his voice was deep and hoarse. “I want to feel that tight little cunt squeezing and sucking me like a hungry mouth. Come for me…”

His words pushed her over the edge. She felt a wash of heat and her body convulsed. She let out a deep, guttural groan which spiraled up into a shriek, a primal sound, reminiscent of rutting sabrecats.

“Yes, that’s it,” he murmured, “that’s what I want to feel. Come, Raven…”

“Oh gods!” She was lost, unable to see or hear, barely able to breathe in the waves of pleasure washing over her. She was faintly aware of Mercer turning her, lifting her hips, thrusting into her from behind. His strokes continued, and he pulled her wrists behind her, holding them bound with one strong hand while his other reached up to grip the back of her neck. Then finally she heard him draw breath, hissing. He stilled, and she felt him jerk inside her as he bellowed with his own orgasm. He released her, falling forward on his hands, stroking his cock inside her with a few final thrusts. Then he stopped and she could hear him breathing heavily. She lay limp beneath him, still impaled, feeling the heat of him above her. Then she felt him nuzzling the back of her neck, rubbing his face in her hair.

“Kousk breman, ma tenzoriou…” he whispered.

She didn’t understand the words, although she was sure they must be Breton. She closed her eyes, thoroughly spent. The last thing she remembered was feeling something soft and warm being laid across her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercer is speaking in his native tongue. Translation: Sleep now, my treasure.
> 
> There's no record of the Bretic language in the lore, only speculation that it was probably a mix of Aldmeri & Nedic, since they are the human descendants of the Aldmeri-Nedic Manmer of the Merethic Era. I used real Breton, spoken by a branch of the Celtic people and heavily influenced by French. If any real Bretons are reading this, I hope they will forgive my grammar-it's probably atrocious, lol. 
> 
> Mercer, when he speaks of love or affection at all, speaks in his native language, hearkening back to a time before his life fell apart.


	23. Household Chores

_“You’re insane! Let me go!” Karliah twisted in his grasp, her lavender eyes filled with a rage he had never before seen in them._

_“I’ll let you go when I’m damn good and ready,” he snarled._

_“You see? That’s what I’ve been telling you! You are too controlling, Mercer! I am not a dog to come at your command! We are through!”_

_He brought his face close to hers, his wrath matching her own. “It’s him, isn’t it? Gallus!”_

_She glared at him. “No, Mercer. You drove me away first.”_

_“Harlot! Have you lain with him?”_

_She brought her free hand up and slapped him, with all the strength of her Dunmeri heritage, rocking his head sideways._

_He captured that hand as well. “I can give you more than he can, Karliah. Wealth, power—”_

_“You think I want that? You’re a fool, Mercer. All of that means nothing without someone to share it with. And you will share nothing! You don’t know what it means to love. Don’t you see? You don’t love me—you only want to own me!”_

_“Karliah…” She was wrong. He could feel his heart ripping itself apart._

_“Shadows take you Mercer,” she hissed. “You will let me go or by Nocturnal I will make you regret it!”_

_He released her. She whirled and ran for the door, slamming it behind her. The sound echoed through the house, now as empty as his aching heart. Into that emptiness poured a fury so profound it choked him._

_You will live to rue this day, Karliah. I will see that you do._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He jerked awake, breathing rapidly, covered in a cold sweat, staring at the ceiling. What had made him dream of Karliah? He felt movement beside him and turned his head, startled. Raven shifted in her sleep, burrowing her head deeper into the soft pillow. Distracted by the nightmare, he had entirely forgotten her.

He took a deep breath, feeling his heart slow. The other was just a dream. This was real. She was real. He rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. She lay under the covers now; he had moved her when he had finally gone to sleep himself. She’d not awakened, only murmured in her slumber like a small child as he had shifted her. He’d left the white fox fur he had covered her with as it lay. Normally he scorned the furs the Nords used on their beds, but this one was worthy of her; the rich white fur contrasting with her tanned skin, its softness equal to her own silkiness; a silk which belied the steel underneath.

Memories of the night before ran through his mind; her courage in the face of the pain he could see in every movement of her body, her challenge at the table, her nervous fear as she crossed his threshold, her anger as he commanded her to come to him; then the relief as he healed her and her delighted laughter at his threat, as if she welcomed it. Most of all he remembered her tightness; how he’d forced himself into her; how her words had stirred him, pushing him to the brink, and how he’d enjoyed the feel of her narrow passage throbbing around his cock when he’d finally finished her.

When she was not with him, she was never far from his thoughts. She must never know how she affected him. She must never know the control she wielded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Valla was pouring his wine as he entered the dining room. He accepted the goblet, noting how she cast her eyes back at the staircase. He snorted in amusement, then sat, picking up his fork and spearing a dumpling to flip onto his plate. The woman cleared her throat softly, her subtle way of asking permission to speak.

“What do you want?” he demanded in feigned annoyance. He already knew what she was going to ask.

“Will milady be joining you, milord?” Worry colored her anxious tone.

“She sleeps. Leave her be. Go draw a bath for me.”

“Milord will be staying today?”

Now he _was_ annoyed. “If I am it’s no business of yours. Do as you’re bid.”

“Yes, milord.” She hurried away.

He turned his attention back to his plate, slicing a piece of the dumpling off with the side of his fork and popping it into his mouth. He was loathe to leave, but he needed to maintain his ruse. He hadn’t come this far to allow his plans to fail because of a woman, even one as tempting as Raven. Then there was the information he was expecting, regarding the mysterious broker for Goldenglow. It was probably too soon yet, but he wanted to be sure he was there when it arrived.

He also knew he had to allow Raven to return to her duties as soon as she was able. She had done an incredible number of jobs in her three week absence. She was a benefit to the Guild, and the longer it lasted, the better prepared he could be. He decided to allow her a couple more days of rest, then put her back to work. He smiled to himself. He’d have to make good use of those days.

Valla returned to tell him his bath was ready. He grunted in acknowledgment, ate the last bite of food and rose, taking his goblet with him. Valla moved in behind him to clear his place.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Valla waited until she was sure her master had time to get into his bath, then took a mug of tea up the stairs to check on her mistress. She was terribly worried. She’d heard his threat the night before and his angry tone when he’d called Raven to attend him told her he’d been in a foul mood. She’d seen enough of his dealings in the last six winters to know he was capable of great violence. She would not have been surprised to find Raven battered and bloody.

Raven’s door stood open, and Valla could see she was not there. She approached Mercer’s door cautiously and knocked softly.

“Come.”

She pushed the door open gently to find her mistress sitting up in the bed, wrapping the white fur around her. The brief glimpse she got of her body was encouraging. She saw no injuries.

“Is that tea? Oh thank the gods. Give it here, woman.”

Valla handed the mug over. “Are you alright, milady?”

Raven sipped first, then responded. “Yes, I’m fine. Better than fine actually. My lord healed the rest of me and gave my thigh another treatment. I’ve had a good night’s sleep, and as soon as I eat I’ll be ready to fight dragons. If there were any to fight, that is.” She chuckled.

Valla shook her head in wonder. “Milady, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Milord was clearly in a foul mood last night and somehow you survived without injury.”

“I believe he was more interested in bedding me than beating me. Once he had my clothes off the only thing hard about him was his cock.”

Valla gasped. _“Milady."_

“Oh don’t pretend to be shocked, Valla. We both know very well what men are all about.”

The woman turned bright red, then snorted. Raven laughed and Valla joined in. Then Valla controlled herself and said in a whisper, “Milord is in the bath, he hasn’t left yet.”

Raven put a prim look on her face. “Thank you for the warning, Valla. I shall conduct myself accordingly. Oh—before I forget—I have a potion to take.” She rose and walked out the door, heading for her own room and regally trailing the fur behind her.

Valla stepped in to gather up the scattered clothing and then followed her. Raven was trying to hold the fur up and dig through her dresser drawer at the same time. Valla pulled her robe—the decent one—from the wardrobe and held it up for her. Raven threw the fur on the bed and slid her arms in, pulling the garment snugly around her and tying off the belt.

“Thank you, Valla.” She went back to digging. “Ah, here it is. I was starting to worry.” She pulled a cup off of one of the shelves, blew in it to clear any dust, and poured what she felt was the proper dose into it. She downed it in one gulp, then made a face.

“Gods, why do potions always taste so nasty?” She picked up her tea and drank several gulps to clear the taste.

“If I may ask, milady, what was that?”

Raven slid her feet into the slippers Valla had placed on the floor beside her. “_That_ was a potion to keep me from catching, Valla. My lord may not have any worry about the results of tumbling me into his bed, but I do.”

“Very sensible of you, milady.”

Raven took a deep breath. “Now. I need to make a trip to the privy before I burst, then I’ll eat and we’ll see what I may array myself in for our trip to the market.”

“Milady?”

“You said you wanted to take me to the Alchemist. I really have no need for the salve now, but there are other things I require. I suspect you have need of supplies for the kitchen as well?”

“Yes, milady, I do. If Milord may be persuaded to part with some coin…”

Raven chuckled. “Leave that to me.”

She turned and hurried out, headed for the stairs. Valla hung up her discarded clothing and folded the fur, then returned to her master’s room to make the bed. As she worked, she thought about Raven.

At first, she’d thought her just another common strumpet, albeit one clothed in the armor of the Guild. She’d thought it odd that Mercer would invite her into his home; usually he visited the whorehouse to satisfy the needs of _that_ nature. It had irked her to be instructed to call Raven ‘milady’ and treat her with such respect. Then Raven returned from her travels and Valla had overheard Mercer grilling her. She’d realized with astonishment that Raven truly was a noble’s daughter, one from Cyrodiil no less; and that she’d come to Skyrim only because she’d had no choice. She’d been forced to make her own way in a savage, foreign land.

In spite of her pride in her own country, Valla was under no illusions about how difficult it was to live in it. She herself did not venture beyond the walls of the city. Yet the Lady Raven blithely undertook to travel across its length and breadth in service to the Guild. She had survived what was obviously a very dangerous undertaking at Mercer’s behest, returning bleeding and barely alive. And that very evening she suffered his attention in the bedroom without complaint.

Finished with the bed, Valla straightened, shaking her head, wondering what the woman was made of. Then, hearing voices, she quickly made her way down to the dining room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven seated herself at the table and reached for the dumplings eagerly. She was starving. Even cold they were delicious. She’d barely swallowed one mouthful before she heard Mercer’s heavy step behind her. Then his hand was in her hair, pulling back to tilt her head up to him. He leaned over and kissed her, his damp hair touching her cheek. She drew air in through her nose in surprise.

“Come with me,” he said.

“But I’m starving! Can’t I—”

He picked up the dumpling. “Come,” he repeated, his voice deepening in command.

_Damn it. He makes me feel like a dog he’s tempting with a treat._

He walked toward his office and she followed. When they were inside, he shut the door, then backed her up against the wall. He held the pastry out and she reached for it, but he took her hand and held it, moving the dumpling toward her mouth. Then she understood. It would have been romantic, but she was too irritable from hunger to appreciate it. And the expression on his face, indicating that he was pleased with himself, belied any romantic notions. He was enjoying the control he had over her.

She was strongly tempted to bite his hand instead, but she squelched the urge and took a large mouthful of the dumpling.

He pulled at the tie which held her robe closed and spread the garment open as he offered the next bite. She took it and chewed, trying to ignore what he was doing to her body as he began to caress her breasts, teasing the nipples into hard knots, then running his hand down her belly to rest between her thighs. He began to stroke her, drawing her moisture up to lubricate her bud. She let out a little whimper of pleasure, distracted from the food.

“Take another bite, tenzoriou,” he murmured. She obeyed. He continued to feed her as he massaged her, and she found it more and more difficult to concentrate on eating, only taking a mouthful when he prompted her. Then he’d fed her the last bite and he turned away from her, pulling the chair out from his desk and seating himself, pulling his own robe open to reveal his swollen and erect cock. She walked over and he took her by the waist as she straddled him, guiding her down as she took his hard member and directed it into her wet entrance. Mercer groaned, running his hands up and down her sides.

“Pleasure yourself, Raven. I want to watch you bring yourself.”

She stared at him in surprise. “I...I’ve never done that before in front of…” She was suddenly very uncomfortable.

“Always done in secret,” he said, “when your lover did not satisfy you...I want to see your secret pleasure, tenzoriou. Pull it up for me. Let me see it.”

Hesitantly she reached down, grasping herself between her first and second fingers, pulling up so that the sheath was lifted, revealing her swollen bud.

“Now wet your finger and stroke it.”

She slipped her forefinger into her mouth to wet it, then began to massage herself, expecting to find she was too nervous and surprised at the pleasure she felt. He watched her, a small smile on his face, running his fingers lightly along the inside of her thighs. Then her finger found the right spot and she increased the speed of her strokes, letting out a small groan and leaning back slightly. He slid his hands around to the small of her back to support her.

“I feel your cunt getting hotter, tenzoriou. I see your juices beginning to flow down around my cock.”

She reached down to moisten her finger in her own fluids and returned to stroking herself quickly. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Eyes open, tenzoriou. Look at me. I want to see the pleasure.”

She opened her eyes and fastened them on his; past her inhibitions now, sharing her pleasure with him. She could feel the burn begin, and began to breathe more rapidly. His smile widened.

“You are close, tenzoriou, I feel it; your cunt is tightening on my cock. Come for me.”

She cried out as her orgasm took her, her body tightening, then her pelvis began to move on its own, massaging him. His hands gripped her more tightly, holding her in place. She felt one final spasm, then she slumped toward him. He held her against his chest, groaning softly as her tight passage continued to throb around his cock.

“Now,” he murmured in her ear. “Kneel before me and clean your juices from my cock.”

She was thankful her face was past his shoulder, for she couldn’t keep the sudden anger she felt quite contained. It was not what he was telling her to do—she’d done it before—it was _how he ordered her_ to do it; as if she were a whore, a slave bound to do his bidding, compelled to kneel and worship between his legs.

She managed to compose herself just before he pushed her back and grasped her by the jaw, fingers threatening at the pressure points. “Kneel,” he commanded, his voice dropping into that threatening tone she was beginning to know so well. She started to rise and he released her, then sat forward on the chair as she knelt in front of him. She opened her mouth and took him in, and he sighed in pleasure, placing his hands on her head.

_This is just a job. This is what I must do to accomplish my task, to see him dead._

“Taste yourself, tenzoriou, sweet and salty...suck your delicious nectar from my cock...ahhh…”

_Just shut up, will you? And what does that fucking heathen word mean?_

She applied her not inconsiderable skill to pleasing him, holding his foreskin back and flipping her tongue over the head, kissing and sucking it, then sliding her mouth down over the shaft, covering her teeth with her lips, until he was nearly at the back of her throat. She’d had lots of practice with Avienus. This had been one of his favorite activities, probably why she hated it so much. She’d learned how to do it well, controlling her gag reflex, to bring him quickly and get it over with. The only time she’d not minded was with Nazir, and he had never asked her, she had offered.

She found herself missing him terribly in this moment. She’d been trying not to think of him because it pained her so much to think she was betraying him, even though she was aware that he_ knew_ what she must do and sanctioned it, for the good of the Brotherhood, for the good of their family.

She closed her eyes. This was _not_ Mercer. This was Nazir, and she knelt on a finely embroidered Hammerfell pillow, worshiping between _his_ dark thighs, _his_ rich deep voice filling her ears with soft endearments, _his_ strong and gentle hands running through her hair. She stroked his balls and the inside of his thighs, and took him time and time again as far as he would go, until he was groaning with pleasure; until his breath came in ragged gasps and he swore in his own tongue to the goddess Morwha that he was going to die of ecstasy.

Then he held her head still, his thick dark cock at the back of her throat. She felt him jerk, flooding her mouth, and she swallowed endlessly as she drank, coaxing every last salty drop of rich fluid from him, swirling her tongue over his now very sensitive head until he pushed her head back, unable to take any more.

“Ah...tenzoriou...you surprise me.”

The illusion was broken. Mercer held her, tilting her head back. He leaned over to kiss her forehead. She smiled up at him, back firmly in her role; her brief interlude reminding her exactly why she was here.

“What does tensor—tenzorioo mean? It’s Breton, right?”

“Tenzoriou,” he corrected.

_That’s what I said, arsehole._

“Yes, it’s Breton. It means treasure. And you are a treasure, Raven.” He stood and reached down to offer her a hand to get to her feet.

She lifted her arms to place them around his neck, pressing herself against his bare chest and kissing him on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

_Even though I did all the work._

He smiled. She couldn’t tell if he were pleased with her—or with himself.

“Would my lord part with some coin for some supplies for the kitchen?” she asked in her sweetest tones.

He lost his smile. “Valla put you up to this, didn’t she. She’s too cowardly to face me herself.”

“No, my lord,” she dropped her eyes, lowering her arms to smooth her hands down his chest, then nuzzling at his neck. “I could see we were running low on flour, as well as a few other things. I did run a household once, you know.”

He let out a long suffering sigh, then pushed her back gently and walked around the desk to open his safe, tying up his robe as he went. He pulled out a coin purse, closed the safe and spun the lock, then returned to her, placing the small leather bag into her hand. She felt as if she were accepting payment for services rendered.

“I’ll expect dessert after supper tonight.” He gave her a sly smile, causing a shiver of revulsion to run down her spine.

“Thank you again, my lord. Your larder will be full tonight, and dessert will be rich and delicious.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She watched as he left, leaving the door open behind him. Tying up her own robe, she cast an evil look at his back, then returned to the table to finish her interrupted breakfast.


	24. Market Day

Raven walked across the dining room. Valla, who’d been standing in the middle of the room tracking Mercer’s progress up the stairs with an expression of horrified disgust on her face, now turned to her mistress and hurried forward, sliding her arm around Raven’s waist and guiding her into the kitchen.

“Now then, Milady, it’s going to be alright. Let me just get you some water and you can wash the...filth...from your...face.”

Valla operated the pump and filled a large bowl, set it on the worktable in front of Raven, then handed her a bar of lye soap and reached for a clean cloth.

“It’s not sweet soap,” said Valla, “but all the better, I say, to get yourself clean of that...that…”

“Keep your voice down, Valla.”

The woman subsided. Raven plunged soap and hands into the water, lathered up and washed her face, then rinsed thoroughly. Valla handed her the cloth, then reached for a bottle of wine from an upper shelf, poured a little into a mug and handed it to Raven after she’d finished drying herself off. Taking a gulp, Raven rinsed her mouth, gargled, then spat the liquid into the bowl. Both women froze as they heard Mercer’s boots clomping down the stairs. Valla moved cautiously over to the kitchen door and watched. Raven heard his footsteps receding, then heard the basement door thud faintly as it closed behind him.

“He’s gone, thank the gods,” said Valla, turning back to her.

“I trust you heard most of that,” said Raven.

“Would that I had _not_, Milady. When I heard him tell you to kneel...I...I...well, I _knew_…”

“It’s okay, Valla, There’s no need to speak of it.”

“I am so sorry, Milady. I never knew that he was so...so...of course, I _should_ have known, but I…” Valla was completely flustered. Raven could see that she was clearly appalled by what she had heard and was having difficulty dealing with it.

“It’s nothing that I have not experienced before, Valla.”

Valla looked shocked, then an expression of understanding dawned on her face. “Your husband...in Cyrodiil…”

“Yes.”

“Gods preserve you, Milady. Sometimes beauty can be a curse.”

Raven lifted her eyebrows.

“Oh! Milady I meant no offense…” Valla put her hand to her mouth in horror.

Raven chuckled, her good humor restored. She stepped toward Valla and gave her a hug. “Thank you for being here for me, Valla.”

“Of course, Milady.”

“Now, I’d really like to finish my breakfast so we can get to the market before all the goods are gone. It’s Loredas and all of the local farmers will be in to buy supplies.”

“You still want to go, Milady? After this?”

“If I huddled in my bed like some weeping maiden every time a man abused me I would never get anything done,” declared Raven, moving around Valla to return to the dining table. “Besides, I’m not going to let that enormous sack of mammoth shit get the best of me.”

Valla sniggered, then, wrapping her hand in a cloth, picked up the pot of dumplings from the hearth where she’d been warming them and followed her mistress out of the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The cacophony of market day hit them full on as they stepped through the front door onto the boardwalk. Raven took a quick step back and pulled Valla to safety as several overstimulated children screamed past them, playing a wild game of tag. Valla clucked disapprovingly.

It seemed as though everyone in the Rift had tried to cram themselves into the city. The vendors were too busy to hawk their wares, exchanging goods for gold in a steady stream. The air was misty with moisture and bore a slight chill, but it seemed to have no effect on the shoppers, although it did dampen the fishy smell of the canal and the delicious scent of the delicacies being cooked at the temporary food stand which had been set up for the day by an enterprising farmer. He was offering hot mulled wine, as well as small bubbling pastries and meat pies, which were disappearing as fast as he could pull them from his compact traveling oven. Raven wondered how he’d managed to wangle his license. Well placed bribes, no doubt; or perhaps a highly stationed relative.

The birds huddled in disconsolate clumps on the rooftops and railings, puffing out their feathers against the chill and only occasionally swooping down to snap up crumbs dropped by the throng. Mothers called out to heedless children or gathered in groups to gossip and fathers gripped forearms and clapped each other on the back in greeting, before moving on to eye shiny new farming implements with greedy visages, settling instead on items sorely needed for the larder or on seed for the fields.

Raven squared her shoulders and started for the bridge nearest the smithy. “I need to drop these breeches off, then we’ll brave the stands,” she said to Valla. The woman followed her closely, clutching the pouch hanging at her waist, which held the coin.

Raven had been amused when Valla had expressed her awe at the amount of gold she’d counted out at her mistress’s request. She’d indicated that Milord had never been so generous. The unspoken implication was that the one hundred Septims weighing down the purse had been the result of Raven’s cooperation with his repugnant desires—and she was probably correct, Raven had thought at the time. Still, if she had to suffer through it, she might as well get _something_ out of it.

Balimund was just finishing up a transaction with a farmer who needed a plowshare repaired. He set the blade aside and turned to her, his smile fading as he recognized her. She was not clad as a thief, but her face was rather unforgettable, even if the last time he’d seen it was by the light of his forge.

“Good morning, Balimund. How are you faring this fine market day?” she asked pleasantly.

He cleared his throat. “Well enough,” he grumbled.

Raven eyed the pile of farming implements and weapons he’d collected for repairs.

_Better than well enough, I’d say, you stuffy pious prig._

She stepped closer and held her damaged breeches out, indicating the holes made by the arrow. “I have need of a repair here. I was hoping you would apply those skillful hands of yours to good purpose.” She smiled seductively, intending that he remember their previous conversation.

His brow furrowed and he took the armor from her with hands that trembled only slightly, studying the rips with a professional eye. “I’ll have to cut the damaged parts away and patch them.”

“That will be quite acceptable. I’m sure you will apply your talent to mending them as seamlessly as possible.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“And how much will that set me back?”

“Fifty Septims.”

Raven cocked an eyebrow. _Are we really going to have this conversation again?_

He sighed. “Thirty. Not another Septim less. I have to do both sides.”

“Done. Have it for me by tomorrow and I’ll add another ten.” She dug into her pouch. She would not use Mercer’s coin for her own needs. Counting out fifteen Septims, she placed them into his palm. “Here’s half the agreed amount. You’ll get the rest when the job’s done.”

Again the wordless nod.

She wished him a good day and she and Valla turned to go into the market proper. Raven elbowed her way through, keeping an eye on Valla and a hand on her pouch. They made the rounds of the stands with a bit of difficulty, but some judicious pokes and insole stomping got them through. Raven was impressed with Valla’s use of a mattress needle when an unwanted hand settled on her behind.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” she admonished the would-be groper.

“Well done, Valla.”

The woman harrumphed in outrage. “Milady should not have to suffer anymore indignity today. Heathen. Men like that should be castrated.”

Raven chuckled at her. “You are wasted on Mercer, Valla.”

“Thank you, Milady, but now that you are there, I consider my time to be well spent.”

Raven was uncomfortably aware that Valla would be out of a job when Mercer was dead.

_I shall have to think on that. Perhaps I can find her a new situation._

After they’d filled Raven’s pack with merchandise, they returned to Mercer’s house, emptied the pack onto the worktable in the kitchen, then went out for a second foray. This time they skirted around the crowd and headed for the Pawned Prawn. Bersi was no less beleaguered than the outside vendors, but his prices were higher so more left empty-handed or with less than he would have liked to see his customers buy. Raven waited for a lull, then dropped the bar across the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms and eyeing Bersi meaningfully.

“Take your time, Valla. We’ve still another couple turns of the sands before the Master returns,” she told the woman. Bersi looked from Raven to Valla and back, and Raven could see comprehension dawning on the rotund merchant’s face as he put two and two together. He beamed at Valla, a nervous tic beginning at the corner of one eye.

“How can I help you today, Valla?”

Hesitantly Valla passed him her list.. “I’ve a few things here that I need…”

“Of course! Of course! Let me see here…,” He began to gather the goods as quickly as possible, no doubt to get them out of his store as fast as he could. A couple of trips down to the basement were required to bring up items he’d run out of. He returned each time puffing and red-faced from exertion. Finally everything had been assembled on the counter.

“Will there be anything else?”

“Valla, add a pound of candy for your children,” said Raven.

The woman looked at her in surprise. “Oh no, milady, that’s—”

“I insist. My treat.”

Valla turned to Bersi. “Um...perhaps a pound of the snowberry drops?”

“Of course!” Bersi opened a large jar and scooped out the hard candies, filling an empty flour sack which he placed on his scales to weigh.

“What else may I get for you, milady?” he directed his question to Raven this time. She snorted in amusement at his use of the title.

“That’s all. Tally it up.” She handed her pack to Valla, as the counter was too full to accept another item.

Bersi inventoried the plunder, murmuring as he counted. He seemed only a bit less nervous than the time he’d counted the coin he’d owed the guild. Then he offered the amount tentatively to Raven.

“Fifty Septims?”

“Pay the man, Valla.” Raven dug in her pouch and added ten for the candy. Bersi sighed in relief. Then he and Valla packed up the knapsack and Raven strapped it up. Bersi held the heavy load for her as she slid her arms through the straps.

“Oh Milady,” said Valla. “That’s much too heavy for you to carry.”

“I’ll manage. Good day to you Bersi. Thank you for your courtesy.”

The man gave her a surprised look. “My pleasure, milady.” He waddled over to lift the bar from the door and shooed people back to allow them to leave. “Please come again.”

“I’m sure we will.”

When they were outside, circling around the crowd again to unload at Mercer’s, Valla commented. “I’ve never seen him that accommodating before, Milady. In fact, he seemed downright nervous in your presence.”

“Being a member of the Guild has its advantages, Valla.”

Valla blushed. “Oh. Of course, Milady.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They visited the Alchemist next. Raven could see that Valla was anxious as they descended the stairs by the Orphanage to the lower boardwalk.

“Take care, Milady. All sorts of low-lives and vermin skulk about down here.”

“I’m sure I can handle them, Valla. Don’t worry. Besides, I thought you lived down here?”

“No Milady. I have a small flat in Black Alley.” Raven knew that Black Alley was the name given to the poorer section of town behind the homes on the Dryside--even worse than these hovels below the market.

“I see.”

_I shall have to visit one day and see what may be done to make her life easier._

At that moment, a man stepped out of the shadows and threatened them with a knife. “Hand over your valuables, or I’ll gut you like a fish.” A rotten stench assaulted them—worse than the stink of the canal—and he grinned with greenish black teeth.

Raven didn’t bother speaking. She kicked him savagely in the balls and rolled him into the water when he doubled over, then took Valla’s hand and pulled her past the spot as if nothing had happened.

A sign proclaiming the presence of Elgrim’s Elixirs told Raven they’d reached their destination. Across a rickety footbridge from the alchemy shop a couple of whores lounged by a rotten wooden door. To Raven’s eyes they looked particularly unwholesome; diseased.

“Hey honey!” one of them called to her. “We can show you a much better time than any man!”

Valla stared, aghast and speechless. Raven turned to look them over.

“I don’t believe I’d touch you with someone else’s tongue,” she said.

The one who had spoken gave her a venomous look. The other offered her middle finger. “Bitch. You’re the one fucking that man in the black leathers, aren’t you.”

Raven drew her dagger, spinning it casually in her right hand. She could see Valla’s mouth drop open in her peripheral. The two women stiffened, their eyes now reflecting fear.

“Leave,” said Raven. “If I see you again, I’ll carve my name on your backsides, so you won’t forget it.”

They scrambled to open the decaying door and shut themselves behind its dubious protection. Raven heard the door bar drop on the other side. She chuckled and turned to Valla, who was red faced and indignant.

“The very idea!” Valla spluttered. “Accusing you of...of…”

Raven laughed. “They were absolutely correct, Valla. The only difference is that I don’t have a choice and I don’t get paid.”

“Exactly my point, Milady! You don’t sell yourself!”

“To some there is no distinction between the two. Mercer, for example.”

“Well it matters to _me_, Milady. And I don’t _care_ what Milord thinks. Why Lady Mara would choose to _bless_ him with you is beyond my ken. He _certainly_ doesn’t deserve you.”

_It is Lord Sithis who has ‘blessed’ him, and that blessing will be his doom._

“I will not presume to understand the ways of the Divines, Valla. And neither should you.”

Valla dropped her eyes. “Of course, Milady. Forgive my blasphemy. I was just so...so...furious—I wanted to rip every last hair from their heads.”

“Ewww,” drawled Raven, disgusted. “I wouldn’t get that close to them, much less touch them. Come on, let’s see what the alchemist has to offer us.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The alchemist had little to offer other than blustery talk about how busy he was, though all he was doing was lounging in a chair by the fire. His wife was much more helpful, and offered Raven the choicest plants and roots among their collection of ingredients. Raven was not interested in their potions, especially if the absent minded old man was doing the brewing. He spent most of the time they were there ragging a young woman who worked at the alchemy table in the corner to the left of the counter, decocting something that smelled particularly familiar. After making her purchases and leaving Valla to select the household needs of mirriam, canis root and elves ear, Raven wandered over to have a look.

“That’s jarrin root!” she exclaimed, amazed.

The woman looked up from her work. “Hmm? Yes, of course.”

She was beautiful. Raven couldn’t decide whether she was Nord or Imperial. Her face had the angular look of most Imperials, and her nose was long, straight and slender, much like Raven’s own. Her eyes were a dark amber brown and slender black brows floated expressively above them. Her full lips were shaped in a natural pout and she wore her ebon black hair shoulder length with a braid down the left side of her face. Were it not for the eyes and her stronger jaw, one could have mistaken them for sisters.

“I’m Raven. I have a particular interest in poisons.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Raven,” the young woman smiled. She held out a gloved hand. Raven looked at it, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to poison you accidentally. I am Ingun. Ingun Black-Briar.” She removed the glove and re-offered her hand and they gripped forearms. Then she put her glove back on and returned her attention to her work.

“You are Maven’s daughter?”

“Yes, more’s the pity. Mother doesn’t approve of my chosen specialty, but I find the art of alchemy fascinating. It's exhilarating to observe the effects of my potions on the body. Watching the heart stop... the eyes go blind. We're made up of thousands of parts with thousands of different functions all working in tandem to keep us alive. Yet if only a single part of our imperfect machine falters, life fails. It makes one realize how fragile... how flawed we are. I find the irony intriguing; that the same world which gave us life provides us the means to die."

_I know someone who would love to meet you._

“Are your potions for sale? I should love to have a bottle of this decoction.”

Ingun finished chopping up the last of the jarrin root and scooped it into the cucurbit, which was already bubbling with more of the deadly substance. She adjusted the flame, then removed her gloves. “Wait here,” she said. She disappeared into the back of the shop and returned shortly with two small black bottles, which she offered to Raven.

Delighted, Raven accepted them. “How much do I owe you?”

Ingun waved a hand in dismissal. “I find coin so meaningless. It’s worth it to me to see my creations used as they were meant to be.”

Raven looked at her in astonishment. “Are you sure you’re a Black-Briar?”

Ingun frowned, her lovely pout deepening. "Hmph. My family. All that wealth and they squander it on foolish ventures and political schemes. I was meant for so much more than all of that... I wish to pledge my life and apply my talents in darker circles. If only my mother would let me, I would make her proud."

“I am sure that one day she will see your worth, Ingun. I am very pleased to have met you. Thank you for this. If you ever have need of a favor someday, please do look me up.”

_And if you ever decide on a career in assassination, I can put in a good word for you._

The young woman’s face lit with pleasure. “Thank you Raven. I am pleased to have met you as well. It is good to find _someone_ like me who truly appreciates the craft.”

Raven tucked the bottles carefully away in her pack, a pleased smile on her face.

_We are more alike than you know, Ingun._


	25. Addiction

After leaving the Alchemy shop, they decided they’d best return to prepare the midday meal as quickly as possible. It was almost Mercer’s time. They stopped in the inn briefly and Raven bought fresh bread and glazed carrots, then they hurried on to the house. She put the food by the hearth to keep it warm, wrapping the bread in a clean, damp towel and transferring the carrots into a silver bowl.

“I’ll set the table while you cook the meat,” she offered.

“Oh no, Milady,” Valla protested. “You shouldn’t have to do any work—”

“Nonsense. What have I been doing all morning? You’ll never make it if I don’t help.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “Thank you, Milady,” she said gratefully. “I’ve never been late with a meal before. I don’t know what Milord would do to me. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

“That will never happen if I have anything to say about it. Now, where do you keep the silver?”

After setting the table Raven returned to the kitchen and placed a crostata on the hearth to warm while she finished up the potatoes. Valla slid the steaks onto a platter just as Mercer arrived at the head of the stairs from the basement. Raven rinsed her hands and splashed water on her face, dried quickly and then went to meet him.

With a happy smile plastered on her face, she accepted his jacket and hung it up next to her coat, then returned to slide her arms around him and offer a kiss. He slid his hand up the back of her neck and gripped her by the hair, holding her back.

“You smell like wood smoke.”

_There’s just no pleasing you, is there?_

“Yes, I’ve been in the kitchen, ensuring that your lunch would be as delicious as the breakfast you fed me this morning.” She gave him a mischievous grin along with the double entendre.

She was rewarded with a faint smile. Then he accepted her kiss, pressing her against himself and squeezing a butt cheek.

_Such a romantic arsehole._

“Have you had any response from your contacts about our mysterious broker?” she asked as they walked to the table.

“Not yet. It’s too soon.”

Valla poured his wine, then Raven’s tea as they took their seats. “I’d like honey, this time, Valla,” when she offered the moon sugar. “I’m getting too dependent on the sugar.”

“Of course, Milady.” She returned to the kitchen to bring a small jar of honey.

Mercer sipped his wine, and Raven could see approval in his eyes. Then he set his goblet on the table and cut into the tender steak, placing a piece in his mouth and chewing, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “You cooked this?”

“Oh no. Valla did the steaks. I took care of everything else.”

He grunted, swallowed, then tried the carrots. “Not bad.”

She suppressed a smile.

_Thank the gods the Bee & Barb has a good chef._

“How is it that a noblewoman learned to cook?” he asked.

“The same way that anyone learns to cook,” she responded. “Trial and error. I was bored most of the time, locked up in my own home. I did lots of things I wasn’t supposed to do. Even laundry was a welcome diversion from embroidery and knitting or tatting. Although, much of the time I was recovering from the beatings I endured at Avienus’ hands. Or fists.”

Mercer frowned. “The man was a fool, tenzoriou.”

Raven regarded him with astonishment.

Mercer offered her his dangerous smile again. It was becoming familiar to her. “There are other ways to discipline which do not involve marking the victim.”

She swallowed uncomfortably and turned her attention to her plate. He chuckled softly.

_And I don’t ever want to find out about them._

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Raven finally ventured, “I’d like to go to the Cistern tomorrow with you, if you’ll let me.”

“What for?” he asked, suspicion coloring his tone.

“I need to brew some replacement potions, and there’s an alchemy table there.”

“Why not buy what you need?”

“I don’t trust Elgrim. He’s old and absent-minded.”

“And you are an alchemist? How did you learn that particular skill?”

_Are we going to play ‘The Game of Questions’ every single time I need to do something?_

“My mother taught me the basics, although her decoctions were mainly for cosmetic use. The rest I’ve picked up over the years from various sources. I studied under Arcadia in Whiterun for a short time, and I’ve read books about it as well.”

_Lies. Gabriella and Babette taught me. Would that I could poison your wine and watch you froth and writhe on the floor._

He studied her thoughtfully.

“Why are you so reluctant to have me go to the Guild, my lord? Don’t you plan on sending me out again?”

“Yes, after you’ve rested.”

“Well? Why is the Guild out of bounds? Do you fear I would allow one of those simpletons to touch me? I would hope that by now you would have a better opinion of me than thinking I would sully myself with any of them.”

“I’m not worried about you. It’s them I don’t trust.” He placed another bite of potatoes in his mouth.

_Aha! So you do trust me._

“You are concerned about Brynjolf.” She kept her face neutral.

He choked, and reached for his wine. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He drank, recovered, then glared at her. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I have been ogled by men since I first became a woman. I would have to be blind not to know he is interested in me—why do you think he recruited me? I can imagine his dismay when you usurped his claim.” She chuckled. “He’s a commoner. I would never debase myself with him.”

“Let me be your_ thief,_ my lord, not your housekeeper.”

The angry look left his eyes, to be replaced by...was it possible? Pride? He dropped his fork and rose, rounding the table toward her. She gasped as he lifted her from the chair and pushed her back against the wall, nearly knocking a painting from its mooring. Before she could even react, he was kissing her fiercely, grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head. A memory of Nazir doing the same thing filled her mind, and she responded eagerly, whimpering with pleasure, lifting one knee to rub it against the inside of his thigh, until she had reached his groin, where she pressed gently.

He pulled his mouth away and pressed his cheek against hers, groaning softly. “If it weren’t for Valla I would take you right here on the table,” he breathed.

_Honestly, the man’s like a hound in a room full of bitches in heat. Where does he get the stamina? If I had the recipe for that potion I could make a fortune._

“You’d best take me up to the bed then, my lord,” she whispered.

He pushed himself away from her, pulling her forward and turning her toward the stairs. She got a brief glance of Valla in the kitchen doorway, a troubled look on her face, watching him drag her away, up to his room. He pushed her through the doorway and shut it behind them, then pulled his tunic over his head. She undressed quickly, and he was on her before she could even sit on the bed, kissing her urgently, running his hands through her hair, then down her back and over her hips. Then he pulled back and she heard the crackle of magicka pooling. She cried out in alarm as she saw a shock spell tingling in his right hand.

“Relax, tenzoriou, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The spell shrunk to almost non-existence. He fisted a hand in her hair to hold her and brought his other down to place it between her thighs.

She gasped, then let out a deep guttural groan, closing her eyes, her body trying to double over, but his hand in her hair held her upright. Never had she felt such rapture. She hadn’t even known it was possible. The low level charm manifested as a vibration, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her entire being.

“Do you like that, tenzoriou?”

“Oh my gods…” was all she managed. She reached for him blindly, steadying herself with her hands on his chest. It was all she could do to stay on her feet.

“I feel you getting wet for me now.”

“Ah..ah...I’m going to come…”

He pulled his hand away, releasing the spell. “Not yet. Not till I’m inside you.”

A deep cry of anguish tore itself from her lips.

He pushed her down on the bed. “On your hands and knees, tenzoriou.”

She struggled to obey, weakened by the intense pleasure. He reached over to pull something from the bedside table drawer, then climbed on the bed to kneel behind her. He pulled one of her wrists back and she felt him wrap something around it and tie it off. Then he reached for the other wrist and she realized he was tying her hands behind her back. She was too fogged to even feel afraid. She knelt, with her face against the covers, helpless, panting for breath. Then she felt his cock pressing against her, entering her, slowly at first; then he rammed himself home and she gasped. He leaned forward on his hands and pressed his lips against her ear.

“Your body is like an expensive drug to me, tenzoriou,” he murmured. “A finely distilled skooma. An addiction I can’t rid myself of.” He massaged his cock inside her, groaning in pleasure. “Your cunt is so tight, so smooth, like fine velvet. Except for that one place, deep inside…” He rubbed himself against it and she cried out in delight. “Yes, that’s the spot. You like that, don’t you. But I think you like the spell better…”

He pulled back and she heard the spell crackle again, then fade, and she tensed in anticipation. She felt him reach around beneath her...then she screamed as he touched her again. Not in pain, but in reaction to the incredible bliss he was giving her. Her body moved of its own will, bucking and writhing beneath him, her hands straining against the bonds, until suddenly she was overcome by the most powerful orgasm she’d ever felt. She couldn’t even breathe. It went on and on until she thought she would go mad; until it became too much, even painful. Then finally he pulled his hand away. She lay trying to recover, to draw in enough air to clear the spots in front of her eyes.

Mercer moaned, clasping her wide hips to lift them higher. “I will never get tired of feeling your cunt throb around my cock.” Then he began to thrust in earnest; hard, long strokes, which incredibly, sent more pleasure coursing through her body as he rubbed himself against the rough spot deep inside. His climax, when it finally came, must have been at least as good as hers. She felt him stiffen, then his body shuddered and he let out a series of deep grunts, continuing to rut until she felt him soften. He pulled out and collapsed next to her, breathing heavily. She stretched out her legs in relief and he pulled her back toward himself, moving her tumbled hair aside and kissing her softly on the back of the neck.

_Oh my gods. Every time I start to hate the bastard again he pulls something like this. I never even knew you could do that with magic. I wonder how many wenches he practiced on before he got it right._

He smoothed a hand up one thigh and then across her stomach, where he rested it. “Do you have something to keep you from quickening?” he asked bluntly.

Now _he thinks of that?_

She smiled, not embarrassed in the least. She’d grown accustomed to discussing such matters openly with Nazir. “Yes. Don’t worry. I don’t want a child anymore than you do. And that’s one reason I need access to an alchemy table.”

“I’ll have one installed here. And I release you to come to the Guild whenever you like. Just remember who you belong to.”

His choice of wording gave her pause, sending a pang of longing through her, making her chest ache.

“I could never forget who I belong to, my lord.”

_And he’s definitely not you._

He removed his hand from her stomach and she felt him tug at the strap which bound her hands. It came away easily and she realized he’d only used a slip knot. She could have released herself at any time. She shifted, stretching her arms out in front of her in relief and rubbing her wrists. Then she yelped as he slapped her bottom.

Arsehole.


	26. Meetings

“Valla?”

After Mercer and she had finished their interrupted lunch and he had departed for the Guild, seemingly in much better humor, Raven had gone upstairs to collect her knives for cleaning and her jacket for another oiling. It still wasn’t quite soft enough yet. She needed to wear it more so she could break it in. When she came back down, Valla was nowhere to be found.

“Valla!”

“Down here, Milady!”

Raven heard a faint cry from the basement. She trotted down the stairs and walked down the hallway until she came to an open door next to the bathing room. Valla was stacking firewood, which was rumbling down a chute to land in a bin set below the opening.

“I’m sorry, Milady, the firewood delivery came and I had to pay the Elf and stack it.”

Raven glanced quickly around the room. A large tank to the left, against the wall shared with the bathing room, stood over a low fire pit. The smoke from the pit was escaping through an enormous Dwemer pipe in the ceiling overhead. On the opposite wall from the tank a couple of sinks were set into a long counter. A basket of laundry set beside the sinks identified this as the washing area. The firewood was stacked against the wall directly across from where she stood, and a couple of worktables were set against the wall behind the door. Pipes ran from the tank up the walls and across the ceiling, some toward the sinks, and some disappearing through openings in the stone. She realized with sudden insight that the tank fed the tub in the bathing room.

_Ingenious! I wonder if Mercer designed this or if he paid someone to do it._

She walked further into the room, spotted an extra pair of work gloves on the washing counter and walked over to place the knives and her jacket on the bench and don the gloves.

“Here,” she said to Valla. “Pass me the wood and I’ll stack it.”

Valla started to protest, then wiped her brow and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you again, Milady.” Together they made short work of the task. Then Raven stirred up the fire under the tank and added a few more logs.

“I take it this tank feeds the tub?” she asked.

“Yes, Milady. Would you like me to draw a bath for you?”

“Not yet. I’m going to clean my knives and oil my jacket first.”

Valla nodded. “Are you alright, Milady? I heard you scream… He didn’t...you know…”

Raven chuckled, wondering what Valla would think of Mercer’s latest escapade.

“Not this time.”

The woman sighed in relief. “Is it true, Milady...what you said...that Milord is high born? I heard you say it before...but I had trouble believing it.”

Raven rose to her feet from tending the fire and turned to face her. “Well, he’s never confirmed or denied it, but from his reaction to things I’ve said to him, yes, I believe it to be true. His manners—for the most part— and speech are high born, and his taste in furnishings is refined.”

“But he’s so..so...vulgar, Milady, if you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Valla responded.

“Vulgarity is not limited to commoners, Valla. In fact, I would say that noblemen tend more toward that type of behavior than the average middle or low born, simply because they can get away with it. And in Mercer’s case, unless I am gravely mistaken, he was torn from his family and his homeland due to tragic circumstances, much like myself. He’d probably not done anything to warrant his exile and he felt unjustly put upon. There is a deep-seated anger in the man, and I daresay it’s due in part to losing his station—and his inheritance. He clawed his way back up the social ladder through larceny, and that has left a mark on him.”

“Milady, how can you defend him after all he has done to you?”

“I’m not defending him, Valla. He’s a cruel, vindictive and _very_ dangerous man. Whether or not he was always that way or if his life experiences made him that way, I don’t know and probably never will know—nor do I care to know. My only hope is to stay alive while living under his control, with as little pain as possible. He has claimed me as his own and I have no choice but to do as he says. So I pander to his desires. I tell him what he wants to hear, and I try to maneuver so that I will have as much freedom as possible. I’m trying to earn his trust, and to some extent, I believe I’ve succeeded.”

Valla seemed to mull that over while Raven walked over to the sinks and turned on a tap to fill one with hot water. She began to pull the knives from their sheathes and ready them for washing.

“Milady…” Valla ventured, “Why couldn’t you just leave? Not that I would want you to go. I would miss you terribly. But I hate to see him abuse you so.”

Raven felt tears sting her eyes. She paused in the act of washing the blades, wondering what she’d done to deserve the woman’s regard. A few shared chores and some caring words seemed like such little things. Was the woman’s life so miserable that she clung to any kindness? She felt doubly guilty now for working toward jeopardizing Valla’s only livelihood. She _must_ find some way to replace what she was about to take away.

She cleared her throat. “I can’t leave, Valla. He’s already told me he would hunt me down if I tried. He has contacts all over Tamriel. All it would take is for someone to recognize me and send him word. I’m already in hiding from the authorities in Cyrodiil for murdering my husband—which I did _not_ do—and I am truly safer with the Guild, with Mercer, than running about Tamriel on my own. If I left and he found me—well, I don’t even want to think about what he’d do to me, because he would never be so merciful as to just kill me. You heard what he said at lunch.”

Valla’s voice quavered as she spoke. “Yes, I heard. _‘There are other ways to discipline which do not involve marking the victim.’_ What a hideously cruel thing to say!”

“Exactly. He would keep me alive and he would make me suffer, and still use my body for his sordid pleasures. I think it far better to submit to his desires and enjoy a small measure of freedom.”

“You are very brave, Milady.”

“I am just doing what must be done.”

_And the quicker, the better. I need to get moving too. I just can’t think of how to proceed next. I wonder how I might get into Gallus’ room?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven finished cleaning her knives and their sheath and began to oil the jacket at one of the worktables. Valla went upstairs to clear the table and take care of her afternoon chores. Raven pondered what to occupy herself with next. It would do her no good to begin any alchemy. She needed a full day to brew the potions she needed.

Frankly, she was bored. She realized with some surprise that she wanted to be out on the road again, taking care of jobs for the Guild. As an assassin, she had whiled away inactive hours comfortably with Nazir in the Sanctuary. Here she had no such pleasant occupation. At least with the Guild jobs she was traveling—and away from Mercer. She needed that. She needed time to think, to put things in perspective and to assemble what she now knew into some sort of cohesive plan. With Mercer constantly underfoot, she found it difficult to concentrate. The man had a way of getting inside her head, and keeping her off balance.

Finally she decided she would go for a walk about the city, and perhaps see if the Khajiit were still camped outside the gates. They might have some rare ingredients she could use in her potions. So, after she finished with the oiling, she washed up in the sink and took knives and jacket up to her room, changed into a clean tunic, her black breeches and matching boots and brushed out her hair. Returning downstairs, she put on her coat and gloves, checked her dagger and called out to Valla.

“I’m going for a walk, Valla. Did you need anything else from the market?”

The woman came out of the kitchen, her hands and face dusted with flour from her baking.

“No, Milady, the larder is quite full now. Do be careful, please.”

Raven smiled at her. “I always am.”

“Would you like my key?”

Raven snorted. “No, until my lord sees fit to give me my own, I will do without.”

“As you wish, Milady.” Valla wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to open the door for her. Raven stepped out onto the boardwalk.

The market crowd had thinned considerably. Many of the people had traveled miles to be there that morning and those had already begun their journey home. The ones who remained picked over the remnants of the wares left from the morning rush or sat on the benches which lined the boardwalk eating the lunches they’d brought from home, supplemented by items purchased; a bit of cheese, an apple, or the tarts from the food vendor’s stand. Children, exhausted from their games of tag and the sheer excitement at being in the city, slumped in mothers’ laps or sprawled on benches, sleeping. One young lad, his face smeared with red snowberry juice and bits of clinging pastry, had evidently succumbed in the middle of vanquishing foes with a brand new wooden sword, and sat, sound asleep, almost in the middle of the boardwalk, weapon still in hand. His father saw her and reached for him as she approached.

“No, don’t disturb him,” she smiled at the man. “A good sleep is hard to come by. I’ll go around.” She stepped around the budding warrior and walked toward the food stand, still open in the market.

The mist of the morning had finally cleared and the thin fall sun was warming the stones a bit now. The birds had cheered and were pecking at the detritus left by the crowd, searching for edible bits. They parted as she walked through them, but did not fly away.

The man at the food stand greeted her with a smile. “How may I serve you this fine day, my lady?” His use of the full title instead of the contraction told Raven he was either of a higher station than she’d thought or had schooled himself to appear so. A man on the way up, she surmised.

“I was hoping for a few of the bubbling pastries I saw this morning. They smelled delicious, but I was unable to get anywhere near your stand with the crowd.”

“I’ve a few left, if my lady would settle for some kept warm in the oven. I was actually just about to pack up for the day and I’ve been letting it cool.”

“That would be quite acceptable. I only want a couple.”

He opened the oven door and retrieved two with his paddle, laying them on the counter in front of her. She handed over her coin, picked up the treats and bit into one cautiously. It was warm and sweet, with a hint of tartness that made her jaw ache for a few seconds. The man lifted his eyebrows in query.

“Quite wonderful. Thank you. Do you come every market day?”

“As often as I can, my lady.”

Sharp voices reached her ears from behind the man. Raven looked over his shoulder, toward the Inn, to see a large blond woman, obviously Nord, wearing rusty iron armor, and with a massive steel war axe strapped to her back, standing menacingly in front of a smaller woman with dark hair. The older woman was dressed in an exquisitely quilted brown coat over fine breeches and well crafted boots. She looked familiar.

The man turned to see what she was looking at.

“Good day to you, sir. Excuse me,” said Raven, and left the stand to walk over to the two women.

The older woman was speaking, anger evident in her tone. "You may have everyone else impressed around here, Mjoll, but you don't impress me. You couldn't touch me if you wanted to."

“You’re a cold, unfeeling bitch,” responded the Nord. Shocked, Raven realized suddenly who the matron was. The family resemblance was strong. This was Ingun’s mother, Maven Black-Briar. Anger washed over her.

“Hey!” she reached out and grabbed the Nord’s arm and yanked her back, in spite of her size, adrenaline lending her strength. She stepped between them and glared up at the blond.

“You will speak to Lady Black-Briar with respect!”

The woman snorted down at her. “You think you can take me?” she challenged.

“I daresay my dagger would slice your throat open before you could draw that axe, snowback. So if you’re feeling lucky, just go ahead and try it.”

The large Nord’s war paint smeared face twisted with fury. She started to lift one hand toward the axe. Raven’s hand twitched, ready to reach for her dagger. She knew she had to allow the woman to be clearly about to attack her for it to be self defense.

A man spoke from behind the warrior. Raven had not even noticed him, for there was nothing notable about him. He was one of those people you see and then forget.

“Lady Mjoll, the guards,” he whispered urgently.

_Lady my arse._

The guards were indeed converging on them, whether to intervene or just watch was unclear, but Raven felt their appearance was because of Lady Black-Briar, not the imminent fight.

Mjoll glanced at the guards, then turned her angry glare back to Raven. “You see, Aerin? The guards are in Maven’s pocket, like I said.” Then she spoke to Raven. “We’re not done, Imperial. I’ve got my eyes on you. On both of you,” here she glared at Maven, “One day, Maven Black-Briar, you'll slip up and your Imperial friends won't be there to catch your fall."

Maven was not about to let her have the last word. “My dear, you have no idea who you're trifling with. Now I suggest you turn around and rattle someone else's cage before you get hurt."

Mjoll let out a frustrated growl, then turned on her heel and walked toward the city gates. Her small male companion trotted after her like a puppy. The guards began to disperse. Raven watched until the pair disappeared through the door of the last house on the right, then turned to face Maven.

“And just who in Oblivion are you?” asked the older woman.

Raven dropped a small curtsy. “Apologies, My Lady. I am Raven, the newest member of the Guild. Are you alright?”

Maven looked her over, lifting one eyebrow. “I’m quite fine. Your intervention was not necessary.”

_Ungrateful bitch._

“Of course not, My Lady. I’m afraid, however, that I could not stand idly by and watch while that large uncouth woman abused our patron.”

Maven’s hard gaze softened somewhat. “You’re not dressed as a Guild member.”

“My armor is being repaired, My Lady. It was damaged when I did the job at Goldenglow.”

Now Maven lifted both eyebrows. “You took care of Goldenglow? My man tells me that no one was left alive, except for that fat lump, Aringoth.”

“Indeed,” responded Raven. “They got in my way. I found it necessary to remove them.”

“Hmm,” Maven hummed speculatively, as if re-evaluating her first impression. “It’s about time Mercer began recruiting competent people.”

_Wow, a compliment! That must have cost her._

“Competence is in short supply, My Lady.”

“Undeniably,” she responded. “Has Mercer managed to secure any further information on who brokered the sale?”

“Regretfully, not yet, My Lady. He has reached out to his contacts and is awaiting word. There simply hasn’t been enough time yet.”

“I trust he will alert me as soon as he hears anything.”

“Of course, My Lady.”

A familiar voice called out to her. “Raven!” Both she and Maven turned to see Ingun rounding the corner of the Inn, walking toward them, a pleased smile on her face. “Hello, Mother,” she added, in a more subdued tone. She closed the distance between them and looped her arm through Raven’s. “It’s good to see you,” she smiled. Raven thought she looked a bit relieved to have someone there to face her mother with.

“It’s good to see you too, Ingun.” Raven smiled and placed her free hand on the younger woman’s arm.

Maven frowned. “How do you two know each other?” she asked.

Sensing her new friend’s reluctance, Raven responded first. “We met in the alchemy shop this morning. Ingun was brewing an excellent toxin, which I was eager to acquire. She’s quite accomplished in the art, you know. Her poisons are superb. If I’d had just one bottle of the stuff when I took on the mercenaries at Goldenglow, I would have had a much easier time of it.”

Ingun gave her a grateful look.

“Really,” said Maven, regarding her daughter with mild surprise.

“Truly, My Lady,” Raven continued, “the results of her efforts are outstanding. Having such an asset in the family must be very comforting to you.”

Maven returned her attention to Raven, her expression inscrutable. “Yes…” she drawled. Then she turned sharply and walked briskly away. “Come, Ingun,” she said harshly over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Raven,” whispered Ingun. She gave her a peck on the cheek and then trotted after her mother. Raven watched the pair of them as they walked toward their manor.

_Good day to you too, Lady Black-Briar._

Sighing, Raven looked around for her remaining pastry, which she’d left on the stone wall that encircled the market. The birds had claimed it and were fussing over which one would take the largest piece. Giving it up as a lost cause, she walked toward the city gate and pushed her way through to check on the Khajiit caravan. They were indeed still there.

Raven walked toward the camp, which was far enough from the gate to not attract any unwanted attention from the guards. The main tent faced the road, but was set back from it. An older female Khajiit sat in the entrance, watching her approach. She swiveled her ears toward Raven, her nostrils flaring as she took in her visitor’s scent. “Greetings,” she purred. “Ahkari remembers this one’s aroma. You are Raven, no? But the dark warrior does not walk with you this time.”

Raven felt a stab of alarm, and glanced around to see if anyone else from the city was near enough to hear. The guards were by the gate, and the stableboy was up under the shed tending to the horses.

“Raven would be grateful if Ahkari would forget who she is,” she responded.

“Ah...of course.” Ahkari showed her teeth in a brief smile. “Ahkari shall heed the request of Sithis’ daughter.”

_Damn it, Ahkari. Shut up for fuck’s sake. I should have known she’d recognize me, wily old cat that she is._

Raven dropped to her haunches and sat on the corner of the rug which protected the Khajiit’s rear from the damp ground. “Sithis’ daughter would hate to be asked to work His will against meddling caravaneers,” she whispered with menace.

The Khajiit matron’s beringed ears flattened to her skull, but she nodded. “Ahkari understands.”

_Ahkari is also burning with curiosity, no doubt. This was a mistake._

“I came to ask if you have any rare ingredients in your inventory,” said Raven. “Specifically, Void Essence.”

“Rare indeed,” said the old she-cat. “Ahkari does possess this ingredient, but it is most expensive.”

“I’ve bought it from you before, Ahkari. I know the cost.”

_Stop toying with me._

Rising with some difficulty due to her aging joints, Ahkari disappeared inside the tent. Raven could see her rummaging through a chest. She lifted an engraved box from its depths and returned to place it on the rug in front of Raven, then re-seated herself. She lifted the chain which hung around her neck and selected one of several keys hanging from it, then inserted it into the lock. It clicked, and she opened the box to reveal half a dozen of the rare salts, each in its own compartment, cushioned in soft velvet.

Raven let out a low whistle, impressed. She studied them carefully, then pointed to the densest of the samples. There were larger ones, but they were less compacted. The one she’d selected would provide more material to work with. “This one should do.”

“A fine choice,” murmured Ahkari.

Raven dug in her bag while Ahkari reached into a basket just inside the tent and withdrew a leather pouch. She then pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully lifted the compressed salt from its compartment and placed it into the satchel. She closed the box and locked it.

Raven laid out several gemstones on the rug as well as a pile of coin. Ahkari examined each gem carefully, holding it up to the light, her keen eyes searching for flaws. She selected two flawless red sapphires, then counted out one hundred of the coins. Raven scooped up the rest and replaced it in her bag, then accepted the satchel containing the salts.

“I hope that you will come to do business with us again.” Ahkari gave her a pleased smile.

“As long as you remember to keep your lips sealed about this meeting,” Raven smiled in return, then began to rise.

“Ahkari will remember. Bright moons light your path.”

Raven offered her a small bow. “May your road lead you to warm sands.”

She turned and walked back to the gate, cradling the pouch carefully against her chest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As she walked back toward Mercer’s house, she could hear Balimund over by the forge, his hammer ringing on some piece of metal.

The man certainly is dedicated. He never seems to stop working.

She paused at one of the bridges, thinking. She really needed her own bow. The Elven bow was nice but she couldn’t claim it forever. She turned to cross the bridge and made her way over to the smithy. Balimund glanced up and then turned his attention back to his work.

“Your armor isn’t ready yet,” he stated flatly.

“I’m not here about the armor.”

He placed the plowshare he was working on into the water to cool and put his tongs and hammer down, then crossed his arms and frowned at her. “What then.”

She cocked her head at him, wondering how she might improve their relationship. “I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Balimund. I’d rather not be at odds with you, since obviously we’ll be doing business with each other for a long time.”

“You’re a thief. You prey on people.”

“You’re a smith. You make gold from people’s misery, with this war going on. We’re not so different.”

He flushed, and she knew she’d probed a tender spot.

“Smithing is all I know. What else would I do?”

“And with the war, jobs are scarcer than hen’s teeth. What else would I do? Sell my body? Slave in a field or a mine and be subject to the master’s sleazy desires?”

His flush deepened and he looked away from her. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far,” he finally admitted. “But that doesn’t make what you do any better.”

“When you’ve walked a few miles in my boots, Balimund, then you’ll have the right to judge me,” she responded.

He remained silent, and she allowed the silence to stretch for a few moments. Then she asked, “What is it that you need, smith?”

He looked back at her. “What?”

“What do you need? What would make your life easier? What kind of deal can we strike?”

He stared at her, and she could see he was giving it serious consideration.

“Fire salts,” he finally said.

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Fire salts?”

“The secret of the high quality of my steel is my forge. It consumes fire salts, a strange mineral that burns as hot as Red Mountain lava. I’ve used the last of my supply. If I can’t feed it soon, it may go cold."

“And then you’ll be out of a job. What would you do then?”

He glared at her. “Alright, point taken.”

“How much fire salt do you need?”

“Ten pinches should do.”

“Alright, Balimund. I’ll see what I can do about getting you enough of the stuff to rekindle your forge, and you will stop being such a goat. Do we have a deal?”

He frowned at her, silent, then he nodded grudgingly. “Deal.”

_Well, try to contain your excitement, old man. He probably doesn’t believe I’ll do it._

She offered her hand. He hesitated for a moment, then gripped her forearm, and she appreciated the fact that he didn’t try to break it, although she did rub it afterwards.

“Now,” she said, “I would like to look at your bows.”


	27. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
In which we see the beginning of a change in the relationship between Mercer and Raven, although it’s mostly on Mercer’s side of the equation.
> 
> Dibellan incense brought to you courtesy of paraparadigm, author of Always Read the Fine Print, among other fine works. Thank you, Para!

Raven returned to Mercer’s house feeling rather pleased with the afternoon’s ventures. She now had a new hunting bow, not as fancy as the Elven weapon but lighter and sufficient for her needs, as she expected to use it only with poisoned arrows—and she’d established the grounds for a more favorable relationship with the smith. She also had enough Void Essence to make several pain potions. Her coin was nearly depleted, but she felt the cost worth it. She expected to make enough on her next trip for the Guild to replace what she’d spent, and if necessary, she could travel to Solitude and make a withdrawal from the treasury. Tonilla would probably buy one or more of her gems as well.

Her most promising accomplishment, however, was the chance meeting with Maven. If she could manage to establish a favorable relationship with the woman, she would have an advantage over Mercer. She’d need to play that particular shell game very carefully. It wouldn’t do for him to think that she was working to undermine him.

She paused in front of Mercer’s door, struck by a sudden thought. Aringoth had sold Goldenglow, cutting off the supply of honey to Maven’s meadery. This hurt both Maven and the Guild. Who stood to gain the most from that?

Karliah?

Nazir had said that he’d always wondered if Mercer had killed Gallus. If he had, and pinned the murder on Karliah in revenge for her leaving him, then she would have the strongest motive for driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild. Without Maven’s support, the Guild would be overrun by the city guards as soon as she gave the word.

_Fuck me. I need to see that bill of sale._

She looked up at the sun, judging how much time was left before Mercer’s return. Not much. She banged on the front door urgently.

Valla opened the door for her and stepped back to allow her to enter.

“Is my lord here yet?” Raven whispered. The woman shook her head, looking mildly puzzled.

“Watch for him, and let me know the moment he opens the door. Hopefully he’ll follow true to form and come in through the basement.”

“Of course, Milady. What—”

But Raven was already gone, racing up the stairs to drop off her purchases and snatch up her lockpicks. They wouldn’t help with the safe if the document was there, but they would open other areas for her.

She ran back down the stairs and into Mercer’s office. Valla, alarmed and nervous, stood on the basement landing, listening carefully.

Raven began a methodical search, trying to calm herself and disturb as little as possible, returning anything she did touch to its exact position. She searched through the desk, which was not locked, for nothing of value was in it. She checked tables, shelves, even flipped through books.

She found one wardrobe that was locked. She stood, deliberating. If she unlocked it, he’d know, for she didn’t have the key to re-lock it. She’d not thought of that before. Then she noticed something unusual about it. There was a breeze coming from underneath it. She wet a finger and held it close to the floor. There was definitely a steady flow of air.

_A secret room! Or passage leading to one. Shit! What is he hiding?_

She’d need to secure a key somehow. Maybe she could make a wax copy of one--if she could find the key needed...but there was no time to dwell on it now. She walked over to the safe, crouched and pressed her ear to it, wet her fingers and went to work, trying to remember the direction of the turns she’d seen him make that morning. After a few minutes of frustrating failures, the tumblers finally clicked and the door opened. She sifted through the documents carefully.

Nothing. It wasn’t there.

_Fuck! What has he done with it? Is it in his secret room?_

The sound of footsteps told her Valla was approaching. She shut the safe door, spun the wheel and stood to look at her as she appeared in the doorway.

“He’s here!” she whispered. Raven hurried around the desk and shut the door behind her, then climbed the stairs to her bedroom as quietly as she could, where she shoved the lockpicks in her dresser drawer. Then she realized she was still wearing her coat. She removed it and tossed it across the bed beside the bow and the Void Essence, then checked herself in the looking glass and ran a brush through her hair.

“Raven!” Mercer’s bellow came up to her clearly from below.

She crossed the common room quickly and trotted back down the stairs. “Hello, my lord,” she greeted him with a smile. Valla had already taken his jacket and hung it up.

He looked at her suspiciously. “Where is your coat?” he asked.

“Upstairs,” she said, puzzled.

“Why is it not on the peg?”

_Damn, the man notices everything. I hope I didn’t leave anything out of place in his office..._

“I just returned from the market again. My hands were full. I went upstairs to put up my purchases and then took it off. It’s laying across my bed. I bought a new bow. Would you like to see it?”

Apparently satisfied by her explanation, he shook his head. “Not now.” He reached for her and crushed her against himself, kissing her. She reached up to put her arms around his neck, responding eagerly.

He pulled back. “Now you smell like oil and wood smoke.

She chuckled. “And you smell like the Cistern, my lord. I was oiling my Guild armor after you left. Why don’t we have Valla draw us a bath and we can wash off the stink? That tub is big enough for two.”

He gave her his faint smile, evidently pleased with the suggestion. “After dinner.” He turned her toward the table and slapped her bottom. She squealed for his benefit and walked to her place.

_Does he have to hit so hard?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer lit the compacted cone of incense inside the censer with the twig he’d ignited in one of the braziers, then walked to the opposite corner of the room to do the same to the other. He kept an eye on Raven as he did so. She was sliding her hand along the side of the tub, just under the water, evidently testing the temperature. With her back to him, she slid out of her robe and he was surprised to see she wore another garment underneath, a sheer, filmy ankle length negligee which hid absolutely nothing and set his pulse racing.

The intoxicating scent of the incense was beginning to fill the room, a honeyed aroma with a hint of the acrid tinge of nightshade. He breathed deeply, feeling the effect of the smoky aphrodisiac beginning to take hold.

She dropped her robe on the floor, then turned and glided on cat feet to stand in front of him, her eyes lowered. He reached out to peel the negligee from one shoulder and stroked his hand against her silky skin.

“Look at me, tenzoriou.”

She lifted her smokey eyes. He hardly needed the stimulant. She was sex personified. Karliah had never been like this. With her, there had always been an underlying resistance. Raven seemed to feed on his desires, eagerly accepting the pleasure he gave her and returning it to him distilled into something rarified and amplified, like moon sugar purified into the finest skooma or balmora blue.

He dropped his own robe, then turned her and pulled her against himself, running his hands over her warm skin underneath the sheer fabric, caressing her breasts, smoothing her belly, stopping just above her mound. She pressed back against him, turning her head to kiss his cheek. He lifted his right hand and pooled magicka, casting the shock spell and allowing to fade. He felt her tense in anticipation, heard her intake of breath.

“Do you want this, tenzoriou?”

“Yes, please...it feels so good,” her voice was almost a whimper, “like nothing I have ever felt.”

He braced his left arm across her chest above her breasts, knowing her body would be beyond her control once he touched her. Then he lowered his right hand to place it gently between her thighs, centering the spell over her bud.

She cried out, writhing against him, and he held her tighter, keeping her upright. He decided he would bring her this time. He would rather have been inside her, but the night was young, and he knew she was capable of many more climaxes. She was always tighter after she came, and he was looking forward to that tightness in the bath.

She was gasping for air, her hands gripping his arm as he held her. He pressed his face into her hair, concentrating on holding the spell at the right strength so as not to burn her. He’d never done this with Karliah, having come up with the idea after she’d left him. Raven was a far more worthy recipient of the gift.

“Ah...ah…” she began to chant, and he knew she was close. Once he’d perfected it, the spell never failed to satisfy quickly. Her body stiffened, then she let out a deep, guttural groan, and he felt her spasm against him. He marveled at her strength; he was forced to brace himself against her movement, planting his feet wider to keep from being pulled forward as she nearly doubled over. He held the spell a few seconds more, then released it. Then he was lowering her to the floor, as her legs would no longer support her. He released her, and she leaned forward on her hands, struggling to draw breath.

He straightened, smiling widely, pleased with the sight of her at his feet, weak from the pleasure he had given her. Then he stepped around her and climbed into the tub, lowering himself into the hot water with a sigh, confident she would come to him once she’d recovered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven stirred irritably in the bed, trying to return to unconsciousness. She could feel the pressure in her bladder and her head felt twice its size with another massive headache. Finally she gave it up as hopeless and opened her eyes. She was lying face down in Mercer’s bed. He was gone, thank the gods. Or at least not there in bed with her—he might be downstairs. She turned over, groaning, then struggled to sit up without moving her head any more than she absolutely had to. What had he done? Had he forced her to drink? Put something in her tea?

She had vague memories of sitting on him in the bath, of being carried upstairs, of bound wrists and him claiming her time and time again, bringing her over and over until she thought she would die of pleasure—or more likely from suffocation as she tried to draw in enough air between orgasms. She’d actually become sore—and now she felt bruised from his pounding. She was under no illusions about him taking delight in satisfying her. It had been for his own gratification. He had some sort of fetish about feeling her throb around his cock. No doubt it made him feel magnanimous to know that he’d given her another climax while pleasing himself.

_What a pussy hound he is. If I ever discover the source of the potions he must be taking to give himself such endurance, the alchemist brewing them will experience a slow and agonizing death._

She looked around for something to cover herself. Her robe must still be in the bathing room. Shivering in the cool air, she stood shakily and made her way to her bedroom, then pulled her warm woolen tunic out of the wardrobe and struggled into it. She dug in her dresser for one of Gabriella’s potions. After last night, she’d certainly need it. She measured out a dose in a cup and drank it, nearly gagging at the bitter taste. Where was Valla with her tea?

Her fur slippers were tucked up under the edge of the bed. She slid her feet into them and then walked back across the common room and teetered down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister.

_Gods, please don’t let him be here._

But the Divines were not to be merciful this morning. He sat at the table, eating his breakfast. Valla was nowhere to be seen and she could not hear any sounds from the kitchen. He looked up at her and frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

_No, I am fucking _not _alright, you damned Dibellan nightmare._

“I have a massive headache and I need to pee,” she responded, not bothering with the honorific. If he wanted to discipline her he was welcome to. Likely it wouldn’t make a difference in how she felt already. Maybe he would kill her and put her out of her misery.

She started down the second flight of stairs just as carefully, and barely made it to the privy before she wet herself. She would have felt relieved, but she was so sore it hardly made a difference.

She went down the hall to the bathing room next, to retrieve her robe, the negligee and Mercer’s robe as well. The tub had not been drained, so she pulled the stopper, then dried her arm with one of the discarded drying cloths. Those she left lying for Valla to pick up. Something was definitely up with the woman. Normally the room would have been clean and ready for the next bath. She felt a sense of alarm, wondering what Mercer had done.

She wrapped herself in her robe and returned to the dining room.

Mercer was coming out of his office, holding a small red vial in his hand.

“Where’s Valla?” she asked.

“It’s Sundas. She’s off going to temple or performing some equally futile activity,” he responded. She doesn’t work Sundas’.

“Oh.”

“Your breakfast is on the hearth,” he added. “Here. This is for your headache.” He held out the vial. Just a spoonful. It’s strong stuff.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, managing the title this time. She was a bit surprised at his generosity. “Any idea why I might have developed one? Did you give me something and I don’t remember it?”

He chuckled, and she felt irritated with him again. She resisted the urge to slap him.

“You were a bit fogged from the aphrodisiac. I’ve never seen it affect anyone like that before. You must be especially sensitive to nightshade.”

“You gave me nightshade?”

“It was in the incense I burned last night.”

_Oh fucking Daedra from Oblivion. No wonder I can’t remember much. You fucking arsehole!_

Apparently her anger was evident on her face. He reached out and took her by the jaw, fingers pressing hard into the pressure points. The added pain made her want to vomit. Tears welled in her eyes and one trickled down her cheek.

“I can always take that potion back,” he warned.

“My lord makes me breathe a substance which can induce headaches and false anger in certain subjects and then is surprised at my reaction? He is fortunate I did not succumb to it, or he would be carrying my body to the Hall of the Dead.”

That seemed to make an impression. His glower softened and his fingers loosened on her jaw.

“What’s in this?” she lifted the red vial.

“Ambrosia. There’s no nightshade in it.”

_Well now. Ambrosia. Even I can’t get my hands on that stuff. Must have cost him a fortune._

“Would my lord permit me to make myself tea?”

He released her and nodded.

She set the bottle on the table behind him and walked to the kitchen, fuming.

_I bet he’s never apologized to anyone in his entire life._

Valla, may the Divines bless her and her family for generations to come, had left a jar of pre-ground canis and a tea kettle filled with water on the table. She set the kettle on the cooking stone, stirred up the fire and added another log, gasping at the catch in her back as she bent over. Then she filled a tea basket and sat in a chair as close to the flames as she could get to wait for the water to boil. The heat from the fire began to soothe her aches just a bit.

A covered pot sat on the hearth, and she used a cloth to protect her hand and lifted the lid. A bowl of stew rested inside. She multiplied the blessings she’d already offered Valla. She wasn’t really hungry, but she knew she had to eat something, especially if she was going to drink another potion. Her guts were already twisting from the abortifacient she’d just taken.

She reached for a clean bowl and ladled some of the broth from the stew into it, then tilted it to her lips and began to sip it slowly. It dispelled the bitter taste still remaining in her mouth, and soothed her stomach somewhat.

Actually she was surprised. Nightshade had never bothered her before. But then she’d never breathed it in the form of incense. She’d always taken the distilled, liquid form, in trace amounts, when she’d taken it at all. The bathing room had been foggy with the stuff. She must have overdosed. Or rather, _he_ had overdosed _her_.

She sighed. This was going to make it so much more difficult to work today. She’d be leaning over the alchemy table and her pelvis and back were so sore all she wanted to do was go crawl back into bed. The Ambrosia would dull the pain for a while, but she couldn’t take it all day or she’d be useless, not to mention the hangover she’d have tomorrow. She knew she’d have to ask him to heal her and that would require groveling.

_Nazir, I hate this man so much._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer watched Raven limp into the kitchen, then returned to his breakfast. He was forced to admit that he’d miscalculated. He would never admit it to her, but he’d never intended to hurt her. However, he found it difficult to believe he’d actually endangered her life. He’d never heard of anyone dying from the incense. It was very commonly used in Dibellan rituals--and why would they use something so dangerous? She had to be exaggerating. Still, she looked like death warmed over. The dark circles under her eyes stood out starkly in the pallor of her face and the pain she was feeling was clear in every movement.

He heard the kettle whistle, and moments later she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, walking stiffly toward the table with mug in hand. She seated herself gingerly across from him, blew across the hot liquid and took a sip, then sighed.

“You are sore,” he said.

“Yes. My lord must have been very...energetic...last night.”

He smiled at the memory, and watched as her lips tightened and she lowered her eyes. She was still angry, but it no longer bothered him. “You didn’t seem to mind,” he gloated.

“I barely remember last night, my lord,” she said softly.

“A pity. I did some of my best work.”

She flushed, keeping her eyes on her mug, and sipped again.

“How could the incense have affected you so strongly?” he asked. “It’s commonly used in Dibellan temples.”

“I’ve never even been in a Temple of Dibella, my lord. That was the first time I’d ever been exposed. The liquid form of nightshade, mixed with other reagents and in proper doses, does not affect me like that. I must have inhaled too much.”

“Surely you were not in any real danger.”

Now she lifted her eyes to fasten them on his own, and spoke with a slight edge in her tone. “My lord may believe what he wishes, but as an alchemist, I know very well that nightshade is a deadly poison in its pure form. Not as deadly as jarrin root or deathbell, but still lethal, and the bathing room was cloudy with the fumes. You are evidently inured to it, having built up a resistance over time. I have no such resistance. So yes, I could very well have absorbed a fatal dose.”

He kept his face impassive, ignoring the hint of controlled anger in her tone. He had to admit that she had a right to be angry. And in spite of himself, he felt a jolt of fear. He could have killed her. He realized with sudden clarity that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. She was the only woman he’d found since Karliah who was worthy of him. He would have to take great care in the future not to expose her to unnecessary risks.

“What about the Ambrosia?” he asked.

“It should be fine. There are no adverse properties to be wary of. I’m curious as to how you obtained it. The mana plant only grows in one place in Cyrodiil, in Mankar Camoran’s Paradise. I’ve never even seen a live sample.”

“I have my sources.” He indicated the vial with his chin. “And it’s not going to do you any good sitting there in the bottle.”

She picked up the phial and uncorked it, then reached for a spoon. He could see that her hands were shaking. He reached over the table, took both gently from her grasp and filled the spoon, then held it out to her. She took the proffered dose and swallowed.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stoppered the bottle and set it down on the table. After a few moments, he saw the tension in her shoulders ease. “Are you still coming with me today?” he asked.

“I need to, but I’m very sore. Would my lord be willing to heal me?”

He nodded. “Come here.”

She rose, grimacing, then walked around the table to his chair. He pulled her into his lap, then pooled magicka in both hands, calling up his strongest _heal other_ spell. Placing a hand at the small of her back, then the other at her lower belly, he cast. She braced herself with one hand on the table and one hand on his shoulder, groaning in relief. He held the spell for a few moments longer, then released it. She sighed.

“Thank you. That’s much better.”

“You’d better eat something now.”

She nodded, and slid off his lap to go to the kitchen. He watched her, enjoying the sway which had returned to her hips now that she was healed. He reflected that it might be nice to have her in the Cistern for a change. It would certainly improve the view.


	28. Revelations

Sapphire started when she saw Mercer descending the ladder not five feet from her. She was sitting on the table in the cooking area, eating her breakfast, and she hadn’t even heard him climbing down. She pulled her legs back out of the way and froze, hoping he wouldn’t pay any attention to her.

Another set of legs appeared after he’d stepped away from the ladder and she recognized Raven’s new black breeches. Mercer took her pack and set it aside, then helped her to the floor, patted her arse and walked toward his desk. Sapphire stared, shocked not only by Mercer’s actions, but by Raven’s pallor.

“Hey,” smiled Raven.

“You look like shit,” responded Sapphire. “Are you okay?”

“It’s good to see you too, Sapphire. I’m alright. I just got an overdose of nightshade last night.”

Sapphire gestured with her head in the direction of Mercer’s desk. “What, did he try to poison you?” Her voice held a note of incredulity.

“Not on purpose. It’s a long, sordid story. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. Right now, I need to do some work.” Raven hefted her pack and walked toward the water. Brynjolf came around the corner as she left the cooking area and they nearly collided.

“Hey Bryn,” said Raven, and Sapphire saw Brynjolf’s jaw drop in surprise. Then Raven stepped around him and walked across the nearest bridge in the direction of the training room entrance.

Brynjolf looked at Sapphire. “Is she okay?”

“She says she got an accidental overdose of nightshade.”

Brynjolf glanced over in Mercer’s direction, then back at her. “Go talk to her. Find out what’s going on. Mercer likely won’t mind her talking to you—but he’d sure as Oblivion take exception to _me_ going over there.”

Sapphire nodded, then scooped up the last bite of her porridge, dropped the bowl in the wash bucket and slid off the table. She left Brynjolf serving himself a bowl and walked as casually as she could over to the alchemy table, where Raven seemed to be setting up to brew some potions. She was surprised. She hadn’t known her Guildmate was an alchemist—but then, there was probably a lot she didn’t know about her.

Sapphire moved an Elven bow out of the way and seated herself on a crate next to the workbench.

“So…” she hesitated, wondering where to begin, “I heard you were successful at Goldenglow--although I’m not clear on what it was you brought back. Whatever it was, it seems to have pissed off both Mercer _and_ Bryn.”

Raven pulled on her gloves, lifted a leather pouch from her knapsack and carefully removed a red, grainy looking lump from it. She drew her dagger and began to shave sections off it to place into a bowl. She glanced at Sapphire, her expression grave.

“That’s not mine to tell. All I can say is that I got an arrow in my leg and lots of bruises, but I managed it. I can see why Vex had her arse handed to her.”

Sapphire lifted her eyebrows. “You got shot?”

“Yes. Mercer healed me.”

“Healed? As in healing spell?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know he knew any magic.”

“He knows quite a bit, actually. He _is_ Breton, after all.” She poured a bottle of clear liquid into the cucurbit and then lit the wick underneath it with her fire starting stones, adjusted the flame and then began to pulverize the material in the bowl with a pestle.

Sapphire lowered her voice. “How have you been managing with him? Has he...you know…”

“As often as he can. I think he’s taking some kind of special stamina potion. He’s wearing me out.”

Sapphire felt her bile rising. She choked, swallowed, and then shuddered. “I think that’s more than I wanted to know,” she muttered.

Raven chuckled. “You asked.”

“You don’t sound much bothered by it.”

Raven straightened, wiped her face with the inside of her sleeve and rolled her shoulders. “He’s good at it, Sapphire. Damn good. Except for last night, I haven’t suffered.”

Sapphire felt astonished at this revelation. Mercer? Good in bed? Somehow she couldn’t picture it. Then she focused on Raven’s last statement.

“What happened last night?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but somehow she felt compelled to find out.

“Alright, but just remember—you asked.” She bent back over her work. “I don’t remember much, because he burned some sort of incense in the bath—the kind they use in Dibellan temples, apparently. It had nightshade in it, which can be used as an aphrodisiac. Anyway, I breathed in too much of it. I remember him carrying me upstairs, and I remember him...well, lets just say he was very energetic. I woke up with a massive headache and I was actually sore from—”

“Stop right there. I get the picture. Any more and I’m gonna vomit.”

Raven laughed softly. “So that’s why I look like a frozen draugr this morning. He healed me, so I’m not sore anymore, but it will take time for the nightshade to clear out of my system.” Then her expression turned somber. “I think if he hadn’t gotten me away from the incense when he did, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I’d be dead.”

Sapphire felt a little dizzy with shock. “Gods, Raven. You were lucky. Did he just not care?”

“I don’t think he realized what it would do to me. He’s evidently used to the stuff. It was the first time I’d ever been exposed to it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Raven looked at her. “Yes. I think he cared very much. He didn’t say so, but I think it rattled him.”

Sapphire shook her head slowly in wonder. “I can’t believe he actually cares about someone other than himself.”

Raven poured the pulverized material into the cucurbit carefully, stirred it and went back to shaving more from the red lump. She spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know, Sapphire. He cares, but I’m not sure what kind of ‘caring’ it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well...does he care because he almost broke his new toy? Or does he care because he loves me? Sometimes I think it’s one—then I think it’s the other. I can’t tell. He’s too hard to read.”

Sapphire sat, stunned speechless for a moment. “You can’t be serious. Love?” she finally managed.

“I don’t know. Something’s going on with him. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

Raven looked over at her, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. Sapphire flushed.

“Look, I don’t want to lose the only friend I have.”

Now Raven looked astonished. “Is that what we are, Sapphire?”

She looked away, more embarrassed than she’d ever been in her life. “I’d like to think so.”

“Thank you, Sapphire. I am happy to call you friend as well. I’ll be careful.”

Sapphire watched her work for a while in silence, then spoke again. “Is he going to let you go out on some jobs again?”

“Yes. I’m going to talk to Vex and Delvin later, after I’ve gotten this brewed.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“It’s for healing and killing pain. Very strong stuff.”

“I see.” She paused. “I was wondering...I have a job in Whiterun...I was thinking we could travel together.”

“I’d like that. We can watch each other’s backs.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Also…”

“What?”

“Brynjolf wants to know if you’re okay. How much can I tell him?”

“Well I wouldn’t tell him that Mercer’s fucking me,” said Raven sourly.

Sapphire snorted, then put a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter. “I don’t think he’d appreciate hearing that,” she managed, once she had herself back under control. “Anyway, he’d be stupid not to know it already.”

“Just keep it as vague as possible and tell him I’m fine. Which I am.”

“Alright. I can see Mercer looking daggers at me, so I’m going to the Flagon. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Later, Sapphire,” Raven smiled at her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as Sapphire had left, Mercer rose and walked over to her. “What was that all about?” he demanded.

Raven straightened and turned to face him. “With Sapphire? Just girl talk.”

“About what?”

_Nosy bastard. Afraid I’ll give away your secrets?_

“Well, first we talked about Goldenglow, then we talked about traveling together on some jobs...when I get some, anyway...then we talked about our moon cycles…”

Mercer’s face twisted with disgust.

_That gets ‘em every time._

“Well, you asked,” Raven smiled.

“What else?”

“She wanted to know why I look like I just rose from the grave and I told her I got overdosed on nightshade. I didn’t see any harm in that. I didn’t tell her how.”

His face darkened. “You keep our personal life to yourself, understand?”

_Our personal life? Is that what you call it?_

“I understand, my lord, although I can’t see how you would mind if your sexual prowess were to be spread through the Guild. You’re very good at it.” She leaned closer and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they’ve already figured out _why_ I’m living with you.”

His hard look softened a bit and he gave her his faint smile. Then he took her by the waist and pulled her close. “I don’t want to share you with anyone else,” he said.

Raven was shocked. This was the closest he’d come to saying he cared for her, other than claiming ownership of her.

_Sithis be praised. He _has _gotten tangled in the web._

“I am yours, my lord. What happens between us will remain between _us_.”

His gaze softened further, and now she definitely saw fondness in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her. Then he pulled away and walked back to his desk.

Raven looked around the Cistern. Everyone who had been watching with avid interest suddenly decided they had other things of more import to attend to, except for Brynjolf. He stood by the cooking pot, arms crossed. He was too far away for her to discern his expression, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t pleasant.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven worked throughout the morning, churning out potion after potion. She managed to squeeze six painkillers out of the Void Essence, then brewed a couple of the abortifacients. Then she looked over her ingredients and decided she had enough to make some poison antidotes, which seemed like a good idea in view of the fact that she’d almost been overcome by nightshade. She would work on those after lunch. Right now her stomach was rumbling with hunger and her back was starting to ache again from leaning over the workbench.

She stretched, trying to work out the kinks in her muscles, then stowed the potions she’d made into her pack and left it sitting on the floor by the bench. She picked up the Elven bow and walked over to return it to Niruin with her thanks.

She could see Mercer sitting back in his chair, watching her as she approached him. He’d set his work aside for the morning. She boosted herself onto the desk beside him. As she did, her eyes rested on the bill of sale she’d been looking for the evening before.

_Fuck me. It’s been here the whole time._

He followed her gaze, and she picked it up as casually as she could. “I never got to see this,” she said, reading it through carefully.

He did not seem to be concerned. “And?” he asked.

“I was wondering…” she responded, “I know of someone in Solitude who might be able to tell us whether this was written by a man or a woman.”

He was immediately alert, his eyes narrowing. He reached out and took the document from her and looked at it closely. “Who?” he asked.

“Giraud Gemane. He’s an instructor at the Bard’s College. Teaches history and scribing.”

“And just how do you know him?” he asked suspiciously.

“I didn’t say I know him, my lord—I said I know _of_ him. If you spend anytime in Solitude at all, you get to know who the Bards are. They aren’t exactly secretive. And I’ve told you before that I wandered all over Skyrim going from job to job until I wound up here. He came to the tavern every night and he liked to talk about himself and his work—mostly about himself.”

“You worked there?” he asked.

“For a short time. Serving drinks and food _only_, my lord. I left when the owner’s son decided I’d make a good bed warmer.”

Mercer’s face twisted with anger. She slid off the desk and seated herself in his lap instead, putting her arms around his neck. “I love how you are so jealous,” she said. “I told you before, I’m no whore. Other than the captain who helped me when I first came to Skyrim, I’ve not shared a bed with anyone. I am yours. Send me to Solitude and let me find out what we need to know.”

He clasped his hands around her waist. “What _we_ need to know?”

“If someone threatens Maven, they threaten us. And if they threaten the Guild, then they are a threat to you. I’ll not stand for that.”

The pride she’d thought she’d seen before was back. Yes, it was definitely pride. He nodded. “Head there first, then, when you leave. I want to know as quickly as possible.”

_Oh what a tangled web I weave for you, Mercer._

“Yes, my lord. Now, what would you like to do about lunch? Shall I patch together something from Valla’s leavings or should we go to the inn?”

A shadow passed over them and Mercer looked around her in irritation. She turned in his lap to see Brynjolf standing on the other side of the desk, his face studiously impassive.

“Well?” asked Mercer, obviously angry at being interrupted.

“Maul is here to collect Raven,” he said. “Maven wants to see her.”

Raven stared in astonishment. “Whatever for?”

“That’s between you and Maven,” he responded, glancing at Mercer. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

She looked back at Mercer, who seemed to be equally flummoxed—and perhaps a bit frustrated.

“How do you know Maven?” he asked.

“We ran into each other in the market. Some big Nord woman was harassing her and I chased her away. She does know I did the Goldenglow job now.”

Mercer frowned. “Go see what she wants. I’ll meet you in the inn.”

Raven nodded and slid off his lap.

“Wait,” he said. She turned back to him. He held out the bill of sale and she took it and tucked it into a pocket in her Guild armor. She had yet to pick up the repaired breeches.

“Don’t lose that.”

“Of course, my lord.” She turned to walk toward the Flagon door with Brynjolf. When they were out of Mercer’s earshot, he spoke quietly without looking at her.

“You two seem to be on quite friendly terms now.”

“I’m doing what I have to do, Bryn.”

“Are you sure that’s all? If so, it’s quite the act.”

“You’re not the only one who can work a con.”

“To what end? He’s not stupid, Raven.”

“Nor am I. Right now, I’m just trying to stay alive until we can come up with something to get me out of this. I seem to remember you telling me to play along. Or did you change your mind?”

He reached out to open the Flagon door for her, and she saw the misery in his face. “No, I haven’t. I’m just…” he let out a frustrated sigh as they stepped through the door and he closed it behind them.

“Just what?”

He stopped in the tunnel, turning to face her. “I’m at a loss, lass. This is the first time you’ve even been back to the Cistern since you left for your last trip out. What’s that been, a month? I’ve been worried about you. You look...ill. Is he hurting you? And don’t give me that shit about nightshade poisoning.”

“It’s the truth, Bryn. I got an accidental overdose. I’ll be fine. And no, he’s not hurting me. Maybe a little intimidating, but he hasn’t harmed me.”

_Well, not much, anyway._

“He’s just...controlling every move I make,” she said. “I only now managed to talk him into letting me come back here—and I had to tell him I thought you were beneath me to get him to do that.”

Brynjolf winced.

“He’s very jealous of you. Does he have a right to be?”

He flushed and looked at the floor, sticking his hands in his pockets.

_Well. I think that answers that question._

“Fine. Keep your own counsel. We’ll have very few opportunities to talk like this. You’d better make the most of them. Now, I’ve got an appointment to keep.”

She turned on her heel and walked away.


	29. Vexing Tasks

Maul closed the door behind Raven as she entered Maven’s office. The Black-Briar clan’s matron faced her from behind her desk with an expression of studied indifference. She allowed Raven to remain standing for a few moments, as if to impress upon her the fact that she was indeed the one in control, then gestured to the chair opposite her royal personage with a negligent hand.

“Have a seat.”

Raven sat.

“I must say, you don’t look very impressive, but your success at Goldenglow would seem to indicate otherwise.”

Raven inclined her head. “Perhaps we should dispense with the conversation and you just tell me what you need me to do, My Lady.”

Maven lifted an eyebrow. "Well, now, you're a firebrand, aren't you? It's about time Mercer acquired someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar's guild over there."

_Now what does that mean? Does she know the Guild is having problems?_

“You have no faith in the guild, Lady Black-Briar?”

“Faith!” she responded scornfully. “I have no ‘faith’ in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There’s no grey area.”

“What do you need done, My Lady?”

Maven placed her elbows on the desk and clasped her beringed fingers. “I have a competitor that I want to put out of business. I also want to know how he managed to get the place up and running so quickly. Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for a man named Mallus Maccius. He'll fill you in on all the details."

“Who is your competitor?”

"Some layabout named Sabjorn, who owns the Honningbrew Meadery just outside of the city. He’s been a thorn in my side for the last few years now. Not a day goes by that I don't regret letting Sabjorn get as far as he did. In only a few short years, he's taken that bile he calls mead to market and a good chunk of my profits with it! I can't imagine where he found the gold to take it to market so quickly. Someone must be funding him. I want to know who."

“Why strike now?”

"The Goldenglow Estate sale interrupted the supply of honey I need to make my mead. Sabjorn could use this interruption to his advantage and collect a larger share of the market. I can't have that."

“So you want me to implicate him in some scheme.”

"Exactly. With Sabjorn in prison, his meadery will be forced to close. Then I swoop in and take over the place. No more competition."

“Leave it to me, My Lady.” Raven stood to leave.

"Let me make this very clear, Raven. You butcher this and you will be sorry."

Raven gave her a slight bow. “Understood, My Lady. The job will be done to your satisfaction.”

“It had better be.”

_Bitch. Oh, I cannot wait to get this fucking assignment done and return to the Sanctuary!_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer was seated at a corner table in the Inn, nursing a Black-Briar mead, when Raven arrived. It happened to be the same table she had shared with Brynjolf on her first day in Riften. Apparently he had ordered for them both. A serving wench brought their food as soon as she seated herself. Raven surveyed the feast with delight.

“Elsweyr Fondue? I haven’t had that since I left Cyrodiil.” Along with that delicacy was baked salmon and potatoes, plus fresh crusty bread for dipping in the fondue, as well as a mug of her favorite tea. Unless she was mistaken, it was flavored with moon sugar.

Mercer smiled his faint smile.

_Is he trying to spoil me? Surely not._

He spread his napkin on one thigh. “What did Maven want?”

Raven broke off a piece of bread and began to pull it into small pieces for dunking into the savory cheese sauce. “She wants me to eliminate her competition in Whiterun at the Honningbrew Meadery.”

“Eliminate how?”

“I don’t know all the details yet—I’m supposed to meet with someone there who has a plan—but it will involve implicating the owner of the meadery in some scheme. I assume she chose me because of my success at Goldenglow.”

“Who are you meeting?”

Raven shrugged. “All I know is his name. Mallus Maccius.”

“That’s an Imperial name. Aren’t you worried he might recognize you?”

“There is always that chance, I suppose. But I think it unlikely. My appearance is quite a bit different now. Besides, turning me in would not be in his best interests.”

Mercer regarded her thoughtfully. “Be very careful, tenzoriou. If you feel there’s the slightest chance he might betray you, kill him.”

“Wouldn’t that anger Maven?”

“I can deal with Maven. She can always get someone else to run the meadery. And she would thank us for removing a ‘traitor’, once I get through ‘explaining’ what his plans were.”

_You devious bastard. I could almost admire that. Scratch that. I _would_ admire that._

Dumbfounded, she asked, “You would do that for me?”

He reached across the table and took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her palm. “You are mine now. I won’t give you up to the Imperials.”

Raven was speechless. She stared at him, feeling her face grow warm, and a strange flutter in her chest. She felt safe in the Sanctuary with Nazir, but her safety depended upon being hidden, and in her anonymity as an assassin. She’d always known she could never go back to living openly in a city. Even in Solitude her sojourns were brief, under the guise of Rowena, an anonymous noble living ‘somewhere’ in the vicinity. Was Mercer really offering his protection?

She couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They walked over to the smithy after lunch, where she picked up her breeches and paid the smith. Balimund behaved himself, although Raven felt that was more due to Mercer’s presence than their as yet unconsummated agreement. She also bought some simple steel arrows for poisoning, and he gave her a good price on them without argument.

She was stuffed from the meal and kept yawning, wishing she could stretch out for a nap. Her sleep the night before had not exactly been restful, and she wasn’t sure how late Mercer had kept her up.

They stopped off at the house to drop the armor and the arrows off before returning to the Guild. He commented on her fatigue. “You need to sleep,” he said with surprising concern, cupping her chin gently in his palm.

“I need to get my potions done and talk to Vex and Delvin. As soon as I’m done with that, I’ll take a nap. You know I’ll need to leave early tomorrow. Maven’s not a patient woman.”

He lowered his hand, his lips tightening. She couldn’t tell if he was aggravated with Maven, or with her for resisting him. “Don’t take on so much this time. It’s more important that you get back quickly with the information we need.”

“I can send it by courier.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to risk that.”

_Who are you worried about intercepting it, Mercer? Or do you just want me back in your bed as fast as I can get there?_

She nodded. “Alright.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Well, well. If it isn’t the boss’s favorite. Is he going to let you off the leash for a while?” Vex’s snide remark cut deep. Raven’s hand twitched and she fought the impulse to reach for her dagger.

Vex gave her an evil smile. “Any time you want to try it,” she purred.

Raven responded in their native tongue. “Jealous, venefica?* You are welcome to trade places with me.”

Vex gave her a baffled look.

Raven switched back to the common dialect. “You don’t even speak our language? You must have been born in this shit pile of a country. I said, ‘You are welcome to trade places with me.’ I doubt you could keep up with him, though.”

Vex laughed at her. “Oh but you can, I’m sure,” she taunted. “Whore.”

Vex’s head rocked back as Raven’s fist connected with her nose. Blood sprayed over both of them. Vex fell back against the crates she’d been standing in front of, apparently caught completely off guard. The boxes went tumbling over and Vex landed hard, crying out in pain.

Raven launched herself forward to place both hands around the woman’s throat, barely getting a good grip before she felt herself being dragged back. Vex struggled up, drawing her dagger. Brynjolf inserted himself between them, grabbing Vex’s wrist, squeezing so hard she dropped the blade. Both women fought to reach each other, Vex swearing at her in the common tongue and Raven hurling insults back in Cyrodiilic, so furious she’d lost her ability to speak Tamrielic.

“Stop it, both of you!” roared Brynjolf. “You started this, Vex. What did you expect?”

“I don’t care if you are one of us, touch her again and I’ll smash in your skull!”

Everyone looked at Dirge in shock. Raven craned her head around and realized it was his iron grip which held her immobile. He looked down at her. “You okay?” he asked. No one bothered to point out to him that it had been Raven who had done the ‘touching’.

She gaped up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine, Dirge. Thanks.” She relaxed against him and turned back to Vex, smiling.

Vex turned bright red, equal parts anger and embarrassment showing on her face.

“Apologize, Vex,” said Bryn.

“What!? I’m not—”

“Apologize! Unless you’d rather I called Mercer in here.”

That did the trick. She wiped away the blood with the back of her hand and looked as if she were strangling on the words. “I’m...sorry.” The tone of her voice told Raven she was anything but.

Brynjolf looked at Raven expectantly.

_This is not going to work._

“I need a word alone with her, Bryn.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Raven.”

“Perhaps not. But this isn’t going to work either.”

He sighed. “Alright. Any more fighting though and I’m going for Mercer.” He directed the last at Vex. She glared at him, still fuming, but gave him a brief nod in agreement.

“Let me go, Dirge,” said Raven. The giant Nord released her.

“Truce?” she said to Vex.

Vex looked as if she were going to launch herself at Raven again.

“Vex.” Bryn’s voice was deep with warning.

She settled for a snarl at Raven. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Walk with me.” Raven started toward the ramp where Dirge stood his watches, then on around the walkway to the other side of the Flagon, as far as she could get from the others. Vex followed her, scowling. Once they’d reached the other side, Raven pulled a cloth from a pocket, tore it in half and wet them both in the water. She handed half to Vex and used the other half to wipe her own face, dabbing at her jacket also, trying to remove all evidence of their fight.

Vex held her cloth to her nose, which was still bleeding freely.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” said Raven. “I don’t respond well to the particular insult you used. I hope your nose is not broken.”

“Fuck you,” responded Vex, her voice muffled by the cloth.

“Charming, as always. We won’t have much time to talk. If I’m not back soon, Mercer will come looking for me. For you are correct, he keeps me on a leash--very short one. I’m curious as to why you think that’s an enviable position.”

“You got yourself into that situation,” she snapped.

“I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You had to. There’s no other way he would have taken you. You must have, I don’t know—thrown yourself at him.”

“Oh?”

“He doesn’t mess around with anybody in the Guild.”

“Well, he’s not interested in men, so that leaves you and Sapphire. You’re both beautiful. Why wouldn’t he come after one of you? Or has he?”

Vex shuddered, reminding Raven of Sapphire’s reaction. “No.”

“What if he had?”

She recoiled. “I’d...I’d...cut off his…”

“Would you really now? You think he’d give you that opportunity? No, if he wanted you, and you resisted, you wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d rape you. Admit it now. Be honest.”

“I’d kill myself first.” The implication was that Raven should have done the same.

“Really. Maybe afterwards. But I don’t think you’d be able to beforehand. You would never know what hit you.”

Vex glared at her. “Do you have a point to this shit?”

“My point is, Vex, that I did not have a choice. It was made for me. He claimed _me._ He treats me like an object in his collection. He controls me completely. He uses my body for his sordid pleasures.”

Vex’s eyes reflected her disgust.

“Yes. It _is_ disgusting, isn’t it? I didn’t join the Guild to become his property. But here I am, trapped. If I tried to leave, he’d hunt me down, and don’t think he’d just kill me when he found me. He’s a master at torture. He’d keep me alive and I would still serve his needs, in agony.

“So I would appreciate it if you would show just a tiny bit of humanity. If you can’t sympathize, at least don’t insult me. I would rather have you as—not a friend, but at minimum an ally. We need to work together if we’re going to get back on top. You told me that yourself. Thankfully he’s letting me take some jobs and I can get away from him for a while. The best I can hope for is to stay alive until he either grows bored with me or I can think of some way out.

“And…” Raven sighed, rubbing her temple, “please don’t take this as a threat, because it isn’t; if he catches wind of you treating me like shit, the consequences would be very, very bad for you. He’d also be angry with me for not telling him. He’s an extremely dangerous man, Vex. You know this. Do you _really_ want to be the object of his ire?”

Vex stirred, and Raven thought she looked uncomfortable, even worried.

“So what’s it going to be?” asked Raven.

Vex was silent for a long time. Raven waited patiently, hooking her thumbs in her belt.

“I...guess I didn’t think it through,” she finally admitted. “Nobody in their right mind would go after Mercer.”

_I guess that’s the best I’m going to get._

Raven held out her hand. Vex hesitated, then gripped her forearm.

“Now,” Raven said. “I really need some jobs in Solitude or Whiterun, if you’ve got ‘em.”

Vex nodded, and turned to lead her back around the water to the Flagon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Before returning to Mercer, Raven took off her jacket and examined it closely to be sure she’d she’d managed to clean off all of the blood. Then she ran her brush through her hair and walked back into the Cistern. She collected her pack and together they walked back to his house, despite the early hour. He didn’t indicate that he noted anything unusual and she sighed inwardly in relief.

Then, as she was removing her jacket to hang on the peg by her coat, he spoke. “Whose blood did you draw?” he asked.

She went cold with fear. She turned to face him.

“You missed a spot here behind your ear.” He reached out and pushed her hair back, gripping her by the nape of the neck and pulling her closer.

“It’s Vex’s,” she answered him promptly. “I bloodied her nose.”

He frowned. “Why would you try to hide it from me?”

Her voice quavered slightly as she answered. “It was foolish, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want her punished. I punished her enough.”

He gripped her tighter and she gasped in pain. “That’s my decision to make, not yours. What did she do?”

“She called me...your...whore.”

He let her go, his face turning red with rage. “Vicious little twat. I’ll kill her.”

“Please, Mercer, don’t. The Guild needs her.”

“I decide who we need and don’t need.”

“Yes, you do. Just think about it, please, my lord.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“She never laid a finger on me. Brynjolf was on her in a second, and Dirge protected me.”

The anger left his face, to be replaced by shock. “Dirge?”

“Apparently he’s decided he likes me more than her.”

He snorted, then peered at her suspiciously. “Did Brynjolf touch you?”

She shook her head. “No. He only touched Vex.”

“In the future, you are to tell me if _anyone_ gives you _any_ problems, is that clear?”

“Very clear, my lord.”

He pulled her close again, then kissed her softly, more tenderly than he’d ever kissed her before. He placed both hands on the sides of her head, pushing her back gently. “I don’t want you hurt, tenzoriou. By anyone. Vex is jealous because of your success at Goldenglow. I won’t have that bitch abusing you because of something she was too incompetent to do.”

In spite of herself, Raven felt tears filling her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Go. Sleep. I’ll wake you later and we’ll go eat at the inn.”

She nodded and started for the stairs, her emotions too jumbled to make sense of.

_What is happening to me?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mercer poured himself a generous amount of brandy and drank it, then paced back and forth in the dining room, trying to rein in his anger. His first impulse was to return to the Guild and beat Vex until she was nothing but a bloody pulp of flesh and bones. He even thought of turning her over to the Dark Brotherhood, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of giving Astrid the satisfaction of seeing him surrender. No. He’d cut those ties. There was no going back.

In the end, the only thing that kept him from retaliation was the fact that he knew Raven was right. They did need Vex. Cunt that she was, she was valuable to the Guild and he needed it to last until his plans were solidified and he was ready to leave.

He sat in a chair in front of the hearth and pulled out the letter he’d received that morning, to read again.

M,

The estate is yours. The purchase went through without a hitch, though how you knew the man would sell is beyond me. It’ll be ready for you whenever you are. I’ve planted the seeds of the story you told me to spread and the items you’ve been shipping are being stored securely.

I await the next set of instructions.

S

He tossed the letter into the fire. Another item accomplished. He imagined himself walking up the steps of the wide, shaded veranda, Raven on his arm. No. _Becca._ She could go back to using her real name. Only she would be Lady Frey, not Lady Avenius. He smiled. She’d be living as a noblewoman again, as she should be, but in High Rock, not Cyrodiil. She should like that.

_I hope she broke the bitch’s nose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Venefica is Latin for witch or woman who uses poison.


	30. Dragons, Spiders & Skeevers, Oh My

“Oh for the love of Mara, what now?” asked Alfaarin, throwing exasperated hands up to the sky to beseech the aforementioned deity.

“You’re looking well, my friend,” Raven smiled at the carriage driver. The smile was entirely false. She felt even worse this morning than she had the day before.

“And I intend on staying that way,” responded the carriage driver. “I’m freshly healed—and you two are nothing but trouble.”

“If it hadn’t been for us, you’d be dead,” Sapphire chimed in.

“Are you planning on heading back to Solitude with an empty cart?” asked Raven. “It’s Mundas. Everyone who was going to travel left yesterday.”

The man swore. “Alright, but if we run across bandits again I’m ditching the wagon and running.”

“A sound strategy.” Raven held up her bag of coin, and Sapphire followed suit a moment later. “We’re only going to Whiterun. Likely you can pick up some more passengers there.”

Resigned to his fate, Alfaarin motioned them to the back of the wagon. “Get in,” he said with a long suffering sigh.

They settled themselves as far as they could get from their unwilling coachman and stowed their packs under the benches. The cart lurched forward as Alfaarin shook the reins and called out to his horse. Sapphire regarded Raven critically as she shifted, trying for a more comfortable seat, wincing and rubbing her back.

“You look worse than yesterday. What’s wrong? Did Mercer—”

“No. It’s not him. I’ve got my moon blood.”

Sapphire burst out laughing.

Raven turned a jaundiced eye on her. “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” she growled.

“No, no—I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m picturing Mercer’s face when he found out he couldn’t, you know…” she managed to stifle her laughter down to giggles.

Raven snorted, wrapping her travel cloak more securely around her and pulling up the hood. “Well, he wasn’t happy. I think he was planning something special since I’d be leaving this morning.”

“Ewwww.” Sapphire’s face twisted with disgust.

“Anyway, I slept in my own bed last night. It was nice, except for my backache.”

“Cramps?”

“No, just general bitchiness and the backache.”

“What about that pain potion you were brewing yesterday?”

“I’d rather wait until I’m dying before I use that. It’s so strong it gives me the shakes when I don’t take it anymore—like a skooma addict without his skooma. No, I had a couple of cubes of moon sugar in my tea this morning.”

“Well, at least you know you’re not with child.” Sapphire gave her a wicked grin. “And especially not _his_ child.”

“Divines be praised.”

“Maybe that’s why you hit Vex in the nose. I always get bitchy when I’m about to start too.”

“I punched Vex in the nose because she called me a whore. If it hadn’t been for Dirge and Bryn, I’d have killed her.”

“Yeah, but usually you’re more controlled than that.”

Raven reflected on that for a moment. “Yeah, you might be right.”

“Well it was a beautiful strike. I was so glad I was there to see it. And she doesn’t dare do anything about it—that’s the best part.”

“I hope I broke it. Bitch.”

Sapphire burst into laughter again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raven and Sapphire pushed open the doors of the Bannered Mare with relief. The weather had turned nasty sometime past Darkwater Crossing where they’d spent the night, frosting them with sleet and snow. Sapphire was much better prepared this time, with her own greatcoat, gloves and a warm hood, but no amount of covering helped Raven. She had grown increasingly uncomfortable as the temperature dropped and was cramping in earnest by the time they reached the Valtheim Towers. Fortunately, the weather kept the bandits who occupied the semi-ruined buildings from venturing outside, but Raven had been ready with her bow anyway, anxious to vent some of her irritability against a live victim. Once they were past the danger, she’d dug in her pouch for the palliative, and took a small sip. Sapphire had made no comment.

Now Raven greeted the almost suffocating warmth of the tavern with a sigh of relief.

“Go sit by the fire,” said Sapphire. “I’ll see if I can locate this Mallus fellow.”

Raven nodded, immensely grateful to her friend. “Get me a mug of tea, will you?” She called after her.

What she really wanted to do was curl up in a bed and sleep. The pain had been dulled, but now she felt dazed and drowsy. She threaded her way through the patrons and seated herself on a bench close to the central firepit. Fortunately it was only Tirdas and the crowd wasn’t too bad, not like on Fredas or Loredas. A lean blond Nord sporting a rather sparse beard and wearing his long hair tied in a ponytail down his back moved over to give her room and greeted her with a smile.

“Well met, traveler,” he said. “What brings you to Whiterun?”

_Great. Just what I need. A loquacious Nord to top off the day._

Her Guild armor was hidden under her coat and cloak, or possibly he would not have been so welcoming. “Just passing through,” she said, pushing back her hood.

He blinked as he saw her face, falling silent for a moment. The reaction was familiar; generally most men were stricken speechless when they saw her dark eyes and full lips. He cleared his throat, recovering. “A pity. And words I hear too often. But there's no shame in it.”

“Why should there be any shame?” she asked irritably.

_What an odd thing to say._

“Why...one of them dragons comes callin' in Whiterun, the place'll go up like tinder!” He eyed her as if she were daft.

She turned her head to stare at him, returning his look in kind. “Dragons? There are no dragons! There haven’t been dragons in Skyrim in...I don’t know...centuries?”

“You must come from very far away,” he said. “Haven’t you heard what happened at Helgen? They say a dragon attacked. General Tullius himself was there, about to execute the leader of the rebellion, Ulfric Stormcloak! Then this dragon swooped in and Stormcloak escaped in the confusion. It burned the fort and the entire settlement—killed most of the people—burned them alive, they say.”

_Who is they? Sounds like a load of mammoth shit to me._

But Tullius now, that was a name she recognized. If he was in the area she needed to be very careful. Helgen wasn’t that far from here. She stirred uncomfortably.

“Ah, I can see that made an impression,” said the Nord, triumphantly. He lifted his mug and took a long drink. Then he seemed to choke, and Raven followed his gaze across the room. A pretty blond woman, wearing a commoner’s dress and a slightly soiled white apron, stood with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl on her face. She was staring at him, and if looks could kill, the man would have been dead beside her.

“Uh...excuse me,” he said. He rose quickly and walked over to join the woman, who immediately began to berate him, gesturing in Raven’s direction and jabbing a finger in his chest repeatedly. If she’d felt better, she would have found it amusing. As it was, she was just happy to have him out of her hair.

Sapphire stepped over the bench to take the spot he’d just vacated. She handed Raven a mug of tea. She had a bottle of ale for herself. “Prices are high, here,” she commented.

Raven dug in her pouch. “How much do I owe you?”

“Eight.”

“You’re kidding. They _are_ high.” She handed over the coin. “Thank you.” She lifted her mug and Sapphire clinked her bottle against it. They both sipped. Raven looked at her mug in surprise. “Lavender?”

“The barmaid said it was good for cramps.”

“It is. Thank you for thinking of it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So did you find our man?”

Sapphire gestured toward the kitchen with her bottle. “Back there.”

Raven leaned to her left to look through the kitchen door, and spotted a man sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the room. “Okay. Save my seat. I’ll be right back.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Can’t a man drink in peace?” asked the man peevishly when Raven seated herself across from him.

She took a drink from her mug and frowned back at him. He had stringy, greasy looking black hair and the bags under his eyes made him look like he was coming down off a three day bender. He smelled.

“Maven said you’d be expecting me,” she said in a low voice.

He sat up straighter, peering at her blearily, and grunted. “I was expecting someone...more manly.”

Raven snorted. “What have you got for me?”

He immediately began filling her in. "Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of the Guard and we're going to poison the mead."

“Alright,” she said. “Do you have the poison?”

"No, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan. We're going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, you know what I mean? You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat.

“We’re going to kill the Captain of the Guard? That’s a little extreme. Maven said nothing about that.”

He rolled his eyes, which did not endear him to her. She thought she might just kill him for spite and tell Mercer he was going to turn her over to Tullius.

“Nooo,” he drawled, looking at her as if she were stupid, “it should only make him sick, not kill him. Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work."

_Weeks? It took you weeks to plan this? Maybe Maven’s not as smart as I thought. And I definitely think you are dumb as a doornail._

“What kind of vermin are we talking about?”

“You sure have a lot of questions,” he complained. “Skeevers, what else?”

_There are all kinds of vermin, dunderhead._

“When is the tasting?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll head over in the morning then.”

He shrugged and picked up his mead again, waving her away with his free hand. She was only too happy to oblige him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“How good are you with a bow?” asked Raven the next morning as they left the inn. The steps had been cleared of ice and several workers were spreading the slick stones in the empty market with hay. Both women watched their footing carefully. Raven felt immensely better than the night before but was still not back to her old self.

“Fair, I guess. Not as good as you but I generally hit what I’m aiming at. Why?”

Raven led them toward Arcadia’s. “We’re going to be looking for a skeever nest. I don’t imagine they’re going to let us just walk up on it without a fight. The damned things carry all sorts of diseases. A bow would be better than a blade.”

Sapphire groaned. “I thought we were just going to poison some barrels of mead. I hate skeevers.”

“Everybody hates skeevers. If Maven’s going to take over the meadery, we have to get rid of them for her.”

“Let her worry about that.”

“Nope. I promised her the job would be done right. That’s part of it.”

“Well, I didn’t bring a bow with me.”

“We’ll take a look at the smith’s wares.” Raven pushed open the doors to the alchemist’s shop. “First, we need ‘cure disease’ potions.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I don’t like this one bit.” Sapphire eyed the opening into the burrow which Sabjorn had showed them in the basement under the meadery.

Raven made no comment. She held her torch out, peering into the tunnel. They’d left their coats, packs and Raven’s cloak in the back room where all the mead barrels were stored, and Raven had checked all their weapons and shared out her poisoned arrows with Sapphire, warning her not to nick herself with them. They were as prepared as they could be, but something seemed off. The tunnel was man-height, which seemed odd to her. She inhaled, scenting the air blowing in from the shaft.

“It’s a cave. But unless I miss my guess, this part of the tunnel was dug out by a man. Or men. Not skeevers. She gave the torch to Sapphire and readied her bow. Keep a sharp watch and try to be as quiet as you can.”

Just inside the tunnel they stepped over a dead skeever, caught in one of the bear traps Sabjorn had set out. The shaft descended after that in a westerly direction. Upon reaching the bottom of the slope they entered a larger cave, lit by openings to the surface and filled with vegetation suited to low light conditions. Raven heard skittering to her left and turned, letting fly by instinct. Her arrow flew true, but a second skeever leaped at her, sinking long fangs into her gauntlet. She battered it with her bow and pulled her dagger, finishing it off by disemboweling it.

Sapphire swore and hit a third skeever in the head with the torch as it tried to sink its fangs in her boot. She kicked it, sending it flying. Raven jammed her dagger into her belt and nocked an arrow, pinning it briefly to the cave wall before it slid down from its own weight, dead. She felt pain in her left buttock, and went to one knee, immediately disoriented. Then searing agony began to spread from the wound up her back and she began to jerk and twitch, falling forward to lie on the soft dirt of the cave, helpless. Her vision blurred and faded to black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sapphire kicked the skeever which had fastened itself to Raven’s arse savagely, then jumped on top of it, feeling the creature’s bones snap with a sickening crunch underneath her boots. It lay still.

“Raven? Raven! Oh my gods, that isn’t disease--that’s poison! Venom?” She turned Raven over, panicking at the sight of the foam trickling from one corner of her mouth. Her lips were already turning blue. She pressed her ear against her friend’s chest and heard the heartbeat, very faint and slowing.

She tore at Raven’s pouch. “She’s gotta have something. She always has something. What was she making yesterday?” She pulled bottles out of the bag.

“Red ones—that’s the painkiller. Not black, black is bad—grey with a thistle branch. This has to work. She uncorked the vial with her teeth and placed her hand under Raven’s neck, lifting to tilt her head back. She began to pour the potion carefully into her mouth. “Come on, swallow, damn you! Don’t you leave me like this!”

Raven swallowed reflexively. Sapphire kept trickling the fluid down her throat. Then Raven choked, coughed and sprayed Sapphire with the liquid. “Oh thank the gods! Raven? Can you hear me?”

“More,” Raven croaked.

Sapphire held her head and fed the rest to her, one swallow at a time until the bottle was empty. Raven opened her eyes, breathing heavily. “Oh my arse is on fire.”

Sapphire laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Gods, I thought you were dead.”

“How did you know which one to use?”

“A lucky guess. But you better label the bottles from now on.”

Raven attempted to sit up and failed. “I’ll do that. Help me up.”

Sapphire helped her stand, then gathered up the spilled contents of the pouch. Raven put everything back in, holding back her small looking glass, which she used to attempt to see her arse. “Can’t see it in this light. How does it look?”

“It really doesn’t look like anything much, just a couple of fang marks. What kind of skeevers have venom, anyway?”

“None that I know of.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We continue on. Very carefully. Looks like we don’t need the torch. I can see well enough by the light of the glowing mushrooms.”

“It’s out, anyway,” responded Sapphire. “Do you have more of that potion? I only saw the one bottle.”

“Yeah, there’s more in my pockets. Good thing I got overdosed on nightshade or I’d never have thought of making them.”

Sapphire shook her head. “You are one lucky bitch, Raven.”

Raven snorted. “I’m lucky to have you as a friend, Sapphire. Thank you. I owe you my life.”

Sapphire smiled at her, flushing red and glad for the dim light. She’d never thought about it before, but it was good to have friends. Even just one. It made life worth living.

They turned east through a narrow tunnel leading from the chamber they were in, both with bows drawn, walking—or creeping—side by side. Raven limped a bit, but other than that did not indicate she was in any pain. They passed a mead barrel, and Sapphire knew that there had to be someone living in the caves somewhere. Skeevers didn’t move barrels of mead. They twisted and turned as the tunnel led them down further. Presently they began to see spider webs. She shuddered as they passed through one, wiping her face with one hand, feeling her skin crawl. They were headed west now, as best she could tell, although it was difficult to keep any sense of direction.

Raven let an arrow fly and Sapphire started as she heard it strike with a meaty, squishy sound. Then she heard chittering and knew that more spiders were coming.

“Hold here, let them come at us one at a time,” said Raven. They stood near the end of the tunnel, firing as each spider tried to climb over the body of the one before it. Then Raven was kicking them out of the way so they could enter the next chamber. Sapphire felt her gorge rising and hurried back a few steps to vomit her breakfast up.

Raven didn’t seem to notice. “There’s one still in there. I can hear it.”

Sapphire didn’t hear anything but the roaring in her ears. She put out a hand to lean against the tunnel wall. Raven disappeared for a moment, then returned.

“I got it. You okay?”

She took in a deep breath and nodded. Then she followed Raven through the next cavern and they threaded their way around websacs, giant eggs and the worst of the cobwebs. They were both sticky and white with the threads when they reached the next tunnel. Raven put out a hand to hold her back, then triggered a tripwire with one end of her bow. A large iron ball, studded with spikes, dropped from the ceiling to swing back and forth in the entrance. Raven held it aside and Sapphire stepped through, followed closely by her friend.

This tunnel was narrower and they were forced to walk single file. Raven led the way with her bow and Sapphire returned hers to her back and drew her dagger, not wanting to risk shooting Raven. After several turns, they entered a cavern much larger than any they’d been through before, it’s high ceiling supported by a couple of pillars formed by stalactites and stalagmites meeting and joining. Another skeever scurried forward, hissing, and Raven sent an arrow into its red, dripping mouth.

Immediately after the skeever dropped, Sapphire caught a glimpse of someone darting out from the bend in the cavern, which was obscured from where they stood. She shouted a warning at Raven, who looked up and threw herself to the right, rolling toward the far wall. A blast of lightning ripped across the space she’d just vacated. Sapphire ran for cover behind the nearest pillar, peeking out to get a better look. The mage turned his attention to her and she pulled her head back just in time to avoid another blast.

Raven, who had come out of the roll on her knees, took the opportunity to fire an arrow. The shot went low, but grazed the mage’s leg and buried itself in another skeever. The mage stiffened, convulsed, and fell over, writhing on the cave floor, screaming in agony before finally lying still. Then they were fighting the last of the skeevers, frantic to kill them before they were bitten. Sapphire got the final one, kicking it savagely and spearing it with her dagger in mid-air, the best throw she’d ever made in her life. She leaned over, hands on her knees, panting for air, her heart hammering in her chest.

“That was a fantastic throw,” said Raven.

“Is it over?”

“Not yet. Still got to poison the nest and the mead.”

Sapphire straightened and shook her head. “I’m gonna kill that Sabjorn.”

“Nah. Not him. I’m gonna kill Maccias. He never said a word about the mage and I know fucking well he knew he was down here.”

“Why did he go down so fast? You barely nicked him.”

“My arrows are soaked in jarrin root poison, courtesy of Ingun Black-Briar. I’m going to have to find out what she likes. I owe her.”

Raven walked over to the large mound next to the mage’s alchemy bench, opened the burlap bag hanging from her belt, withdrew a bottle of the pest poison and poured it on the nest.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s find the vats.”


	31. Journey

The ‘Tasting’ went well for Raven and Mallus; not so well for Sabjorn. As soon as the Captain had dragged the hapless owner of the meadery out, Mallus turned a triumphant visage to Raven, who was still leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, where she’d been watching the results of her and Sapphire’s handiwork unfold.

“I don’t think that could have gone any better,” he gloated. He seemed to have sobered up quite a bit since their meeting in the Bannered Mare, but still looked like something the cat had dragged in. “Anything else you need before heading back to Riften?” he asked.

_Now he’s all helpful and accommodating. Bastard._

She pushed herself away from the wall. “I need to get a look at Sabjorn’s books.”

“Ah, Maven wants to find out who his silent partner was, eh?” He dug in his pocket. “Here’s Sabjorn’s key. He keeps most of his records stashed in his dresser, upstairs in his room.”

Raven took the key, careful not to touch the man’s filthy hand. Then she turned and walked into the back room of the meadery. Sapphire was seated on a barrel, not having trusted herself to keep from throttling Mallus as soon as she saw him. She had helped herself to a bottle of mead and lifted it in toast.

“I’ll wait here.”

Raven nodded, then climbed the stairs to Sabjorn’s room. The fire in her arse had dulled down to a stinging sensation in her left buttock, but her back was aching again and the cramps had returned after their trip through the cold cavern. She was in a foul mood.

The key got her into the room and into the top dresser drawer. She sifted through the documents there, finally finding the one she needed. She read it, stumbling just a little over the runescript, which she still did not read easily even after over five years in Skyrim.

_Sabjorn,_

_Within the enclosed crate, you’ll find the final payment. As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regards to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us._

She frowned at the page, then dug out the Goldenglow bill of sale which still rested in one of the pockets of her Guild jacket. She held the two pages side by side. The handwriting was exactly the same. Furthermore, both pages had the same symbol at the top—a solid black circle pierced by a stylized blade. She felt a thrill run up her spine. The same person had written both documents. This was another stab at Maven—and by extension, the Guild, and Mercer. Somewhere out there was a person working toward the same purpose she was.

She raised her head, eyes unfocused, thinking. Taking down Maven would weaken the Guild, for it was only as strong as its allies. She was almost sorry she was undoing this mysterious person’s work. If only she could figure out who it was and work with them instead of against them...it had to be Karliah. It had to be. But she had no way of knowing where she was.

_At some point, Karliah has to make herself known. She’ll have to come out in the open to finish Mercer off. And when she does, I’m going to be cheering her on._

She tucked both documents safely back into the pocket, then glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the double doors to the right of the dresser. She tried to open them, but they were locked tight and the key wouldn’t work on them. She walked over and locked the bedroom door, then returned to open them with her lockpicks. Beyond them was a small room filled with treasures; coin, gold ingot, gems, and a golden decanter, among other items, including jewelry.

“Well, it looks like we’ll get paid after all,” she remarked to herself with a happy smile. Taking a pillow slip off of one of the pillows on Sabjorn’s bed, she quickly filled it, then returned to Sapphire below, dividing the loot between their packs. Sapphire exclaimed in delighted surprise. Raven noted she’d collected a few bottles of mead as well. They were already in her pack.

They put on their coats and shouldered the knapsacks, and Raven led the way out to the front room of the meadery, where Mallus was already beginning to dispose of the poisoned mead.

“Did you find what you needed?” he asked, turning to face them as Raven approached.

“Yes I did,” said Raven.

“Good. When you see Maven, be sure to put in a good word for me,” he smiled.

“Oh I will. But before I go, I owe you something.”

He looked puzzled. “Yeah, what?”

Raven punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor. She shook her hand, swearing in Cyrodiilic, but the pain was worth it. He looked up at her, dazed, holding his hand to his bloody nose.

“That’s for not telling me about the mage,” she said. She turned toward the door.

Not to be outdone, Sapphire stepped up and kicked him savagely in the ribs. “That’s for not telling us the skeevers were poisonous,” she snarled. Then she spat on him, and followed Raven out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Most of the city gathered in the Bannered Mare or the Drunken Horseman that night to discuss the events at the meadery, which was fortunate for Raven and Sapphire. They had their pick of empty houses to rummage through and were able to garner some extra loot along with the items they’d been assigned to acquire. Then they scrambled over a low portion of the city wall and started on foot in the direction of Rorikstead. Sapphire groused about the cold, but she saw the wisdom of leaving the city before their luck ran out. Miserable herself, Raven took another sip of her potion and spoke only when she had to.

The tundra stretched before them, covered by the recent snowfall, the mosses and lichens hidden by the icy white carpet. Only short shrubs were visible, as well as frozen sedges along the streams which meandered through the plains. These fast moving rills were not yet frozen, and they avoided them when they could, to keep from stumbling across mudcrabs masquerading as rocks.

The land had been cut by glaciers in the dim past, which had left in their wake the occasional boulder and carved deep grooves in the ground, now worn by erosion and resembling slabs of iced cakes stacked and lapping over one another like the tiled roofs of Solitude. Footing was treacherous, so as soon as they’d left Whiterun in the distance, they made for the road where it curved beyond Fort Greymoor. They kept to one side of the path to avoid slipping on the ice which covered the worn cobblestones.

A magnificent blue and green aurora lit the night sky; reflecting off the snow cover and providing sufficient illumination to navigate by. The incredible beauty of the ripples of dancing light was completely lost on Raven as she hunched her shoulders against the bitter cold of the Skyrim night.

She stumbled and went to one knee. Sapphire dragged her back up. “Look,” she said acidly, “we can’t walk all night. We’ll freeze.”

“I thought Nords were immune to the cold,” responded Raven, her teeth chattering.

“Not immune, resistant. But we get cold sickness too if we’re in it too long. And you’re shaking. We gotta find shelter.”

“I didn’t intend for us to walk all night. There’s a farmstead up ahead on the right.”

“What makes you think they’ll let us in?” asked Sapphire.

“I’ve been there before. It’s owned by a dark elf. I killed a sabrecat that was going after his cows. He owes me a favor.”

“How in Oblivion did you kill a sabrecat?”

“A lucky shot and a poisoned arrow.”

Sapphire laughed. “You and your poisons. You’d make a good assassin, you know that?”

_How right you are, Sapphire._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The elf, a tall fellow with his hair tied in a topknot and the unlikely name of Mithorpa Nazyal, wasn’t exactly overjoyed to have them banging on his door in the middle of the night. He brandished a pitchfork in their faces, until Raven made him understand who she was and that she had come to call in her favor. Then he grudgingly let them in, gave them bowls of stew and mugs of warm apple cider and climbed back into his bed.

“_Some_ of us must work tomorrow,” he grumbled.

They ate and drank with relish and spread their bedrolls on the floor in front of the fire. Raven slept like the dead.

They did not awaken until well past sunrise, when a beam of sunlight shone through the row of small windows at the top of the eastern wall of the house onto Raven’s face, causing her to squint in annoyance and finally open her eyes. She turned her head away from the light and reached out to prod Sapphire.

“Mmmf.”

“Sapphire.”

“Sapphire.”

“Sapphire!”

“What!”

“Get up and make us some tea.”

Sapphire lifted her head and glared at Raven. “Fuck you.” She laid her head back down on her bedroll. “Oh gods. I feel like someone rolled me in troll dung.”

“You smell like it too.”

“You’re no mountain flower yourself.”

“Rorikstead will have a bath.” Raven pushed herself up off the floor, groaning. “Did you beat me in the middle of the night?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Sapphire finally struggled out of her bedroll. “Gods, it’s freezing in here. Where’s the elf?”

“Taking care of his chores, I’m sure.” Raven pulled her coat on and threw Sapphire’s at her, then rummaged in her pack for a minute, pulling out a cloth drawstring bag. “Come on, let’s go to the privy and then we’ll have breakfast and get out of here.”

Sapphire eyed the bag. “Aren’t you about done?”

“Four days is the usual for me. By the time we reach Rorikstead I should be finished.”

“Oh, I thought it had been longer. Never mind. Let’s go.” She led the way out of the front door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They reached Rorikstead late that evening. Both were tired, but Raven was stumbling with fatigue. They’d been forced to detour around several Imperial patrols, which seemed odd to Raven. There were always patrols, but they seemed unusually numerous, and she wondered if the Nord in the Bannered Mare had been right about Ulfric Stormcloak escaping from Helgen. Fortunately Sapphire had no desire to run into a patrol either, with their stolen goods, so Raven was not forced to reveal the real reason for her caution.

The innkeeper had already sought his bed by the time they pushed open the heavy wooden door. Raven, who’d been there before, went into his room to shake him awake. Mralki greeted them pleasantly enough through his yawns and accepted their coin, pointing them to an empty room, stew on the hearth and agreeing to allow them to use the tub in the basement below for another ten Septims.

“I doubt anyone will bother you at this hour,” he said, “but be sure to bar the door.” Then he wished them pleasant dreams and went back to bed.

They decided to go to the tub first. The water was warm enough, and clean, to their surprise, although at this point Raven felt that even a dip in tepid dirty water would have been sufficient to remove the residual stickiness of the spiderwebs and skeever stink, as well as her monthly mess. They bathed quickly, wanting to linger but also wanting to eat and get to bed. Sunrise would be coming soon enough and they wanted to get down to the cart station to see if they could catch one to take them the rest of the way to Solitude.

Sapphire was unusually quiet. Raven remembered that she’d been so all day. She attributed it to exhaustion and said nothing about it. They carried bowls of stew up to their room. Sapphire set hers on the dresser and changed into a long linen shirt before sitting on the bed and spooning it into her mouth as if she were afraid someone was going to take it from her before she could finish.

“Gods, that was good. If I wasn’t so tired I’d…” She slumped sideways on the bed suddenly, mouth open, unconscious.

Raven stared in shock, then leapt to her feet and ran to her friend. “Sapphire?” She leaned over to place a finger on the pulse point at her throat. It beat strong and steady. She picked up the bowl from where it had been dropped on the floor and sniffed.

_Sleeping draught._

She turned back to her own bowl, reaching for it. Just before her hand touched it, a large hand clamped firmly over her mouth and a strong arm wrapped around her midsection, pinning her arms to her sides, holding her immobile. She felt the tickle of warm breath against her ear.

_Sithis save me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The farmhouse they spent the night in is Barleydark Farm, a location cut from the Vanilla game and added back by the mod 'Cutting Room Floor'. The dark Elf is indeed named Mithorpa Nazya, a weird moniker if I ever heard one. Whenever I'm playing and pass by the farm, I usually have to fend off a sabrecat or two.


	32. Visitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, sorry, but at least you are off the cliff!

“It’s only me, Jawa’kra,” murmured a familiar voice in her ear.

Raven’s eyes opened wide with shock as she realized who held her. She relaxed in his grip, nearly collapsing in relief. He held her firmly upright and whispered again.

“Quiet now,” he warned, and removed his hand. She was so stunned she couldn’t find any words. She turned and looked up at him, heart hammering in her chest, so overcome that all she could do was stare.

He smiled down at her. “Have you nothing to say to me, little jewel?”

She let out a strangled whimper and threw her arms around his broad neck. He encircled her with his arms and lifted her, planting little kisses on her ear and down the side of her neck.

“Oh gods, Nazir!” she whispered. “I can’t believe you are here! But why? Does Astrid know?”

“Yes, she knows. She sent me, although if she hadn’t I would have tracked you down anyway. But there’s been a new development which caused her to want to see how your efforts were progressing.” Gently he set her back down on her feet. “Sit and I will tell you all.” He indicated her bed.

She seated herself and Nazir turned to walk over to Sapphire. He pulled the covers back, lifted her easily and tucked her in, turning her to face the wall. Raven smiled, wondering how such a gentle man had become an assassin. Of course, she had seen his savage side as well, and knew that she never wanted to become one of his victims.

“When did you put the potion in her bowl?” she asked him.

“While she was changing into her nightshirt.”

“Shame on you, stealing a look at her.”

“I have eyes only for you, Jawa’kra. Her beauty cannot hold a candle to yours.”

She smiled up at him. “Good answer.”

He returned to sit beside her, and drew her into his lap. She looked at him in wonder, praying she was not dreaming, reaching up to trace her fingers down the lines of the two scars down his right cheek. Dark amber eyes returned her gaze, their usual twinkling amusement tempered by concern. He clasped her hand in his own and pressed his thick lips against her palm. Then he smoothed back her damp hair, tilting her head back, bringing his mouth to hers. She parted her lips and he kissed her, sliding his tongue in deep. She inhaled, responding eagerly, lifting her arms to encircle his broad neck, clinging to him tightly as if to keep him from vanishing. He slid both arms around her and held her fast.

Finally she broke the kiss and rested her head on his broad chest. “I have missed you so much, my love.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion, and she fought back tears.

“I have missed you too, my Jawa’kra.” His voice voice broke on the last word and he squeezed her tighter. Raven lost control then and began to cry. He held her, letting her cry herself out, fishing a clean cloth out of his robes for her to dry her face and mop her nose.

“I should not have come,” he said.

“No...no...I needed this, Nazir. I have felt so alone, so...guilty…”

She saw the pain in his eyes for a brief second, then it was gone. He slid his hand up and gripped her gently by the hair, pulling her head back. “Don’t feel guilty, Jawa’kra. We agreed to this. This is what must be done. We are strong enough to live through it. I just want to know that you are alright, that he’s not hurting you.”

“He’s not, my love. He’s actually treating me very well. And I’ve made quite a bit of progress, but I still have a long way to go.”

“Tell me then, so I can give Astrid news of your plans.”

She leaned comfortably against him, and settled in to relate everything that had happened, leaving out the details Mercer’s carnal predations.

“So now you go to Solitude, to test your theory that the notes were written by a woman—whom you think is this ‘Karliah’,” he said when she had finally wound down.

“Yes. She’s the most likely suspect, especially if Mercer framed her.”

“And if he did not?”

Raven shook her head. “I don’t know. I need more information. There’s something going on within the Guild. Mercer is living a very luxurious lifestyle, and the Guild is struggling. I can’t help but think that he’s responsible in some way.”

“You think he’s stealing from them?”

She shrugged. “That would be one possibility, but as I’ve said, I need more to go on. I’m afraid I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Nazir took a deep breath and let it out. “You’ve done well, Jawa’kra. You’ve been there less than two months and already you are inside his guard. Go slowly, carefully, and you will succeed. We knew this would take a long time.”

She nodded. “I know. Now tell me what happened to make Astrid send you to me.”

“She received a letter from the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal.”

Raven frowned, puzzled. “But I thought it had been sacked?”

“It was. Apparently there was one survivor, the Keeper, a man named Cicero.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Nazir frowned. “He wants to transport the Night Mother’s body to Skyrim...to our Sanctuary.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What did Astrid say?”

“Astrid has quite a profane vocabulary, did you know that?” he mused.

Raven slapped his chest. He smiled at her. “After she calmed down, she realized she had little choice. To risk offending the Night Mother, and by extension, our Dark Lord, would not be in her best interests.”

“She doesn’t believe in Sithis, though, does she?” Raven ventured.

“You are treading dangerous ground, Jawa’kra,” he murmured.

“She isn’t here. Nor can I believe you would betray me.”

“No. Never, my love. You are quite correct. Astrid believes in herself, and in her ability to lead us. She craves power. But still, she feels threatened by the arrival of the Night Mother.”

Raven nodded. “She’s afraid that the Mother will name a Listener now, one who would usurp her as leader.”

“Yes.”

“So she sent you to find out how far along I was. She wants to make sure she’s firmly entrenched, with the information she needs access to, in order to be in a defensible position.”

Nazir nodded, smiling. “You are a very intelligent woman, my love.”

“How long till this ‘Cicero’ arrives?”

“Once he receives her return letter, which will take some time, the journey should take months. I don’t know how long, perhaps half a year or more?”

“I will step up my efforts.”

“You should not rush things, Raven. You will risk exposing yourself. Are you so intent on helping Astrid that you would risk that?”

“Nazir, we will both be walking the razor’s edge. On one side is Astrid, with whom our loyalties have always aligned. But we dare not offend the Night Mother or our Lord Sithis, whom we both _do_ believe in. If the Mother decides to appoint a new Listener, then our allegiance must change. Until then, we must appear to be aiding Astrid. She is quite capable of killing us both. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want to find _myself_ on the wrong end of her dagger.”

He sighed. “Nor do I, Jawa’kra. Once again, you have a firm grasp of the situation. Be very, very careful, my love.”

“You know I will.”

“You should go disguised into Solitude. Your friend here,” he nodded at Sapphire, “should not find out that you are well known there.”

“I’ve already planned for that.”

He nodded. “Of course. Well, then, it seems we have concluded our business.” A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

She grabbed the knot in his beard and tugged. “Oh no we haven’t, you arrogant Redguard. You’ve got some unfinished business to attend to, and don’t you even think about leaving without taking care of it.”

He was hampered by the need to be quiet, or he would have laughed aloud. He settled for a mischievous grin and flipped her onto her back in the bed, sliding his hands up her sides under her tunic, tickling her. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles and struggled to fend him off with one hand. Finally she reached up to yank his headdress off. He stopped teasing her to rescue it, then cast it aside, and turned to more serious considerations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, sorry, you don't get to see what Nazir's plans for Raven are. They are very private people. For now, anyway. :)


	33. Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the town of Rorikstead.

“Raven, wake up!”

Raven growled irritably and rolled away from the source of the irritant.

“Raven, dammit, if you don’t get up out of that bed I’m going to dump the piss bucket on you!”

That got her attention. She opened her eyes and pushed herself up. “Oblivion take you, Sapphire. I was having such a nice dream.”

“It’s fucking midday, Raven. I just woke up myself.”

“What?” She sat back on her heels and looked at the single small window set into the gable of the attic room they’d rented. The sun shone through blindingly, casting a set of bright squares on the rough planks which formed the floor. She squinted in the glare.

“I guess we were more tired than we thought. I don’t even remember getting in bed. Last thing I recall is eating my stew,” Sapphire muttered.

Raven grimaced, rubbing her hands over her face. The full memory of the night before returned. Nazir had mentioned Sapphire would be difficult to rouse. Apparently Nazir’s attentions had further exhausted herself as well. He had left only a couple of turns of the sands before dawn. She fought to keep a smile from her lips, which wasn’t really hard to do, considering how groggy she felt.

“Well, it’s not the end of the world,” she said. “We’ll just rest up here and leave tomorrow morning. Solitude’s not going anywhere.”

“I thought you were in a hurry to get back with...whatever it is Mercer wants? What does he want, anyway?”

“Let’s get to the privy and go get some breakfast first and I’ll tell you all about it.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rorikstead was a small village at the edge of Whiterun Hold’s plains, mostly agrarian, known for its bountiful crops. The first snow heralded full winter, so the growing season was at an end, but its location at the junction of three major roads supplied the town with income from travelers stopping off at the Frost Fruit Inn before moving on to Markarth, Karthwasten, Falkreath, Solitude, or Whiterun and beyond. The town boasted a carriage stop and relay station for couriers, a small general goods store and a mage who moonlighted as a healer.

The inn seemed excessively full at this hour, even for the midday meal. Raven had known it was full when they’d been offered one of the attic rooms the night before, but the crowd which filled the tables now indicated an unusual influx of locals as well as travelers. She listened to ongoing conversations as she scanned the room looking for a spot. The corner tables were all occupied, to her irritation.

“...destroyed the guard tower, I heard…”

“...entirely too close for my taste. Thought I’d piss myself when I heard the roars…”

“...they say the noise was the Greybeards, using the Thu’um from the top of the mountain. Who were they calling, I wonder?”

“Ah, yer daft, ain’t been no Dragonborn in centuries. Not since Tiber Septim.”

“...ate its soul, I heard…”

Raven and Sapphire traded looks. Sapphire lifted her hand to her head, rotating her wrist in the universal sign of insanity.

Raven shrugged and led the way to the bar, not wishing to squeeze in with the mob. The beleaguered innkeeper set two bottles of ale in front of them and turned to slosh a bowl of stew in front of another patron. Sapphire reached for her ale, but Raven pushed hers back.

“I don’t drink ale. Give me tea. Whatever you’ve got.”

Mralki regarded her with amazed irritation, then remembered her previous visits. “I’d forgotten,” he said. “It’ll take some time.”

“That’s fine.”

Mralki turned to bellow at his son. “Erik! Put on the kettle for tea!”

The young man in question leveled a glare at his father from the table he was serving, but went to do his bidding.

“You really should hire a serving girl, Mralki,” Raven commented.

“Why should I do that when I have my boy?”

“He’s not a boy. Keep pushing him and one day you’ll wake to find him gone.”

“You mind your business, and I’ll mind mine, missy.”

Sapphire snorted. Raven ignored her in favor of ordering her food, and Sapphire ordered as well. Then they sat and waited.

Raven spoke to the man next to her. He looked to be a courier, by his attire and the bag slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the fuss about?”

The man swallowed the bite he’d been chewing. “I figured everybody’d ‘eard ‘bout it by now. A dragon attacked Whiterun early this mornin’. I thought all the dragons were dead. But it’s real enough. The guards brought it down, with the Jarl’s housecarl and some warrior they’re calling Dragonborn.

“I’d heard in Whiterun that a dragon attacked Helgen and Ulfric Stormcloak escaped the Imperial soldiers,” responded Raven. “This is another one?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Hope not. I’d hate to think there were two of ‘em.”

Mralki set plates in front of Raven and Sapphire. “I have to agree with you there, lad,” he said. Then he turned his head to call over his shoulder at Erik. “Yah hear that, boy? You want to go up against a dragon?”

“Anything’s better than bein’ stuck in this stinkin’ little town for the rest of my life!” his son snapped back. Mralki sighed and walked away to deal with another customer.

Raven placed coins on the counter and dug into her food. Sapphire reached to add her coin and Raven stopped her. “My treat.” The courier finished his meal and left.

“Thanks,” said Sapphire. “So tell me, why don’t you drink ale?”

“I don’t drink at all. I don’t like how it makes me feel. I don’t like how I feel the next day, and I don’t like how it makes me stupid. I tend to get in trouble.”

Sapphire chuckled. “I’d like to see you drunk, then.”

“No you wouldn’t. Drinking makes my clothes fall off.”

Now Sapphire laughed out loud. “That I would pay to see.”

Raven gave her a sour look. “You’ve seen me naked.”

“It’d be funnier in the middle of a tavern.”

“Keep wishin’, then, ‘cause it’ll never happen.”

Sapphire grinned. “You were going to tell me what it is Mercer wants in Solitude.”

Raven shook her head. “Too crowded in here. We’ll have to go back upstairs.”

Sapphire lifted an eyebrow. “That secret, huh? Alright.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“It’s not really a secret — to the Guild anyway,” Raven said later, once they’d returned to their room. “At least I don’t think so. From what you’ve said, I think everyone knows Mercer would like to get his hands on Karliah.”

Sapphire sat on her bed, leaning back against the wall. She lifted her eyebrows. “Yeah, we all would. What’s that got to do with Solitude?”

“What I brought back from Goldenglow was a bill of sale. In Whiterun, I found another document--a promissory note--written by the same person. The writing is exactly the same. Of course, Mercer doesn’t know about that one, yet. But he’s sending me to Solitude to have a man at the Bard’s College look at the bill of sale and see if he can tell me if it was written by a man or a woman.”

Sapphire was quiet for a moment. “Wait, you mean if it’s a woman--it might be Karliah?”

“It could be. Buying Goldenglow and funding Honningbrew fucks with Maven’s operation. And if Maven’s business suffers…”

Sapphire made the connection quickly. “The Guild suffers, and so does Mercer! That’s clever!” Then she frowned. “But why would she come back after all this time?”

Raven shrugged. “She really must hate Mercer. Or maybe she feels threatened by him, because he was there when she killed Gallus.”

_If she really did kill Gallus._

“No, wait,” said Sapphire. “Karliah’s a Dunmer. They don’t feel the passing of years like we do. Twenty or so years is nothing to them.”

“She’s an Elf?” Raven was shocked.

_Mercer fell in love with an Elf? He’s so stuck on proper bloodlines...nobility...doesn’t make any sense...but...well, he is Breton. There’s Elven blood in his ancestry..._

“Well, yeah. I thought you knew that.”

“No one bothered mentioning that little tidbit. And you’re right. That much time would be forever to us, but not to her.”

“So that’s what he’s trying to do, track her down; stop her before she fucks up our arrangement with Maven.”

“Yes. Now that I think about it, I think you’d better keep your mouth shut about this. I don’t think Mercer would want it spread around that our deal with Maven is in trouble--that Karliah’s back. If it’s really her.”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Last thing I want is Mercer coming after me. Gods.” She shuddered. “But…”

“But what?”

“I think Brynjolf needs to know.”

“Why?”

“Um...well, I didn’t tell you this...but...he and Karliah…”

Raven stared at her. “You’re kidding me. They were together? When?”

“I only know the rumors I’ve heard. Little snippets here and there. That night that I heard Del and Bryn talking when they were so drunk...He said she broke his heart. After she left Mercer but before she took up with Gallus. I figured she was trying to make Mercer jealous.”

“He doesn’t need any help in that area,” Raven mused. “I bet it was more to salve her own heart.”

_This is like one of those plays they put on at the theater in the Imperial City--sex and heartbreak and tragedy--all exaggerated and sappy._

“Maybe,” said Sapphire. “But if she’s come back for Mercer, he needs to be warned. If he gets in the way, she might kill him too. I think the Guild could survive losing Mercer--but if we lose Bryn, everything will fall apart. He’s the one who’s really holding us together.”

Raven sat up, eyes wide. Sapphire was right, Bryn was the key person in the Guild, not Mercer--and he had just as much reason to hate Karliah as everyone else. He needed to be warned so he could protect himself.

“What?” asked Sapphire.

“I think you’re absolutely right. He does need to know. The question is, how do I tell him? I don’t exactly get many moments alone with him.”

“I can tell him.”

Raven shook her head. “No. You need to stay out of it. It’s safer for you. If you don’t think Mercer wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Well no need to get snippy. I get the picture. Alright, well, I guess I could tell him to meet you somewhere, like that spot where you met him before outside of Riften.”

“Let me think about it. If nothing else presents itself, that’s what we’ll do.”

Sapphire pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “He likes you, you know.”

Raven cocked an eyebrow at her. “Bryn? I got that impression. How do you feel about that?”

Sapphire avoided meeting her gaze. “You mean am I jealous? I don’t know. It’s hard for me to...I generally don’t...shit. I have a hard time getting close to men.”

“You like women?”

“No! No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I’m not opposed to women together, but I don’t think about women that way. I’m just…” she trailed off miserably.

Raven remembered Sapphire’s distraction that first day when she’d asked her if she’d been with anyone in the Guild. “What happened, Sapphire?” she asked gently.

Sapphire looked up at the ceiling, then at a wall, her face flushing. She finally fixed her gaze on an empty mug on the dresser, with such a wretched look on her face that Raven was sorry she’d asked.

“I’m sorry, Sapphire. It’s none of my business.”

“No. It’s okay. I need to tell someone, I suppose. It might as well be my only friend. I just hope you won’t think less of me.”

_She was raped._

“I am here for you, Sapphire.”

She started slowly, hesitantly, “I was young— barely sixteen winters. I...lived with my family on a pig farm in the back of beyond. We were so poor we didn’t have a single coin to spend between us. We ate the same slop we fed our pigs. We had _nothing_, you know? Nothing _anybody_ would want. But that didn’t stop us from being raided by bandits. Motherfuckers. They killed my entire family--everyone except me. Me...they kept. They...they raped me. Over and over and over, tossing me from one man to the next like...like...a prize. It hurt so much...”

  
Raven crossed the room to her quickly, sat down beside her and pulled her in close, wrapping her arms tight around her. “You don’t have to tell me any more, Sapphire. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”  
She could feel the woman shaking with the effort not to cry.

“Cry Sapphire. Let it out. Let it go.”

She did cry then; deep heartrending sobs that told Raven she’d been holding the horror in for a long, long time. When she finally wound down, Raven loosened her hold and Sapphire pulled away from her. She wiped her face with the heels of her hands, and Raven got up to dig a fresh cloth out of her pack and handed it to her.

Sapphire wiped her face and blew her nose. “I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve carried it inside me all this time. Everytime a man got close to me, I would...remember it and push him away.”

“How did you escape? Or did they finally grow tired of you?”

Sapphire’s face hardened. “I bided my time. Gained their trust. Then one night, I stole a dagger and slit their throats. One by one.” She took a deep breath and turned her head away, her face twisting up with the effort not to start sobbing again.  
“I...thought...I thought since I was already a murderer, I’d join the Dark Brotherhood. And they took me in. But...but...I couldn’t do it. It was just too...cold blooded.”

_Nazir never told me that. Why would he not tell me?_

“You weren’t murdering those animals, Sapphire. You were doing the will of the gods.”

Sapphire gave her a weak little smile. “After decided I couldn’t be an assassin, I left and came to Riften, where Brynjolf recruited me. I’ve always liked him. He’s gentle and kind. But he never...you know...tried anything with me. I kind of wished he had. But I don’t think he’s ever felt about me that way. You, though...he was really excited about you from the first day...until Mercer claimed you. Then he...sort of wilted. He’s been miserable ever since. I can tell.”

_I can tell too._

“I’m more worried about you. Are you going to be alright?” Raven asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine now. It feels better getting that off my chest.”

“Good.” Raven gave her another squeeze. “You’ll find someone, someday. Or they’ll find you. It’ll hit you when you least expect it,” she said, thinking of Nazir.

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Now, why don’t you dig out one of those ales of yours and drink it. Then let’s talk about Solitude. We’ll have to go into the city disguised.”

“Why?”

“Well...I’m known there. You see, I used to work in the tavern…”


	34. Solitude

They walked into Solitude, up from Dragon Bridge, where they’d left their packs with the innkeeper. Sapphire was to play the part of the noble lady with Raven as her servant. Raven had been coaching her ever since they’d left Rorikstead and continued to do so all the way up to the carriage stop just outside the Solitude gates.

“How do you know so much about this?” Sapphire had asked.

Raven had given her an abbreviated, laundered version of her life in Cyrodiil.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Sapphire had commented.

“Explains what?”

“Why you talk like a noble. Why you look natural in a noble’s clothes--and why you can deal with Mercer. You already had a husband who controlled your every move. Do you ever worry the Imperials will catch up to you?”

“Not so much any more.”

“I’d be terrified. I wouldn’t go anywhere near Solitude.”

“That’s one of the reasons we’re doing it like this.”

~~~

“Oh yes, a woman definitely wrote this,” declared Giraud. “See here,” he pointed with a finely manicured finger, “this stroke...and this one…” much more delicate than a man would scribe it. “Furthermore,” he flipped the vellum over, “she wrote it under stress. “Here, run your hand across the back.”

Sapphire did so.

“Feel how deeply the writing has scored into the parchment?”

She nodded.

“That means she dug in with the quill, hard, venting her tension.”

“What about the symbol?”

The bard shrugged. “I’ve never seen its like. A family crest? A guild symbol of some kind? Who knows? But it is pre-printed—stamped onto the page. Very high quality stuff, this. Made from genuine calfskin. In fact, if I had to guess, it was imported from Cyrodiil. We simply don’t have the craftsmen to make such fine products here in Skyrim, more’s the pity.”

Sapphire thanked him, motioned for Raven to pay him, and they left the college, stepping back out into the cold.

“Okay, you have your answer.” Sapphire spoke in a low voice. “What next?”

“Now we go to the apothecary.”

“For the fire salts.”

“Yes. Mind we need ten pinches.”

“I remember.”

~~~

They didn’t linger long after leaving the apothecary. There were no Guild jobs to take care of and they wanted to get back to Dragon Bridge before their luck ran out. Or Raven’s luck. They’d passed Taarie a couple of times and each time the Altmer had sent a sharp look toward Raven, as if she recognized something familiar about her.

As they passed the Winking Skeever, they were forced to detour around a small crowd listening to a herald reading an announcement about the upcoming wedding for the Emperor’s cousin, Vittoria Vicci and Asgeir Snow-Shod.

“Now there’s an odd combination,” remarked Sapphire. “An Imperial and a Stormcloak. How in the names of the eight did they get together?”

“Probably met at some fancy party,” murmured Raven. “Or it’s an arranged marriage.”

“Arranged for what?”

“For status, wealth--maybe even for political purposes, like trying to end the rebellion.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Vulwulf would have a fit. He hates the Imperials.”

“He might not have any say in it. Asgeir works for Maven, you know. Maybe she had something to do with it. Vittoria runs the Solitude branch of the East Empire Company. Lots of opportunity for smuggling there.”

“That’s right! With Asgeir in the mix, Maven would pretty much be able to do what she wanted.”

“Now you’re getting it. Maven has her fingers in many pies.”

Sapphire was silent for a moment. Then she glanced at Raven. “You’re trying to get on Maven’s good side, aren’t you? Doing jobs for her.”

“Well, I didn’t go seeking them, but yeah, that’s the idea.”

“If she’s happy with you, that’ll give you an edge over Mercer.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You are one clever bitch, Raven.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

~~~

“What the fuck?” Sapphire stopped so quickly that Raven ran into her.

Raven scanned ahead and then gave Sapphire a little push. “Don’t stop. Don’t look at them. Make straight for the Inn.”

The contingent of Imperial soldiers gathered around the small house across from the Four Shields Tavern didn’t even look their way. A man dressed in the armor of a Penitus Oculatus agent was standing on the porch, speaking to them, although neither woman could hear what he was saying.

“But what—”

“Shhh. We’ll talk later. Let’s just get our gear and leave out the back door.” Raven was shaken. She’d not seen a Penitus Oculatus agent since the ill fated party where she’d spoken to Motierre. Something was definitely up.

They paid the innkeeper and gathered their bags.

“You might want to stay till the storm passes,” advised the innkeeper. “It’s been threatening a blizzard all day.”

“Thank you,” demurred Sapphire, “but we’ve not far to go and I really must get back to my children. They’ll be worried.”

“Ah, I see,” nodded Faida in understanding. “Well, please do be careful. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Nice touch,” Raven said as they circled around the back of the inn and made for the bridge. A brief look back revealed that the soldiers were dispersing, headed for the tavern. “We left not a moment too soon.”

Sapphire looked up at the heavy clouds, gauging their chances for avoiding the storm. “I just hope we don’t regret it. You know of any places we can hole up and at least change out of these dresses? I don’t relish the thought of weathering a blizzard in this garb, and night’s coming on. Fucking gods damned Imperials.” She paused. “No offense.”

Raven chuckled. “None taken. Let me think...no. There’s nothing—I mean, there are a couple of caves but I wouldn’t venture into them. One I’m pretty sure is a Falmer den. The other is a vampire nest.”

“There’s vampires around here?” Sapphire’s voice held a note of panic.

“There’s vampires everywhere.” Raven hesitated, continuing to run through their options. “There’s a tiny settlement up ahead at the crossroads. Remember we passed it on our way in? Frost River or something.”

“That’s just a small farm and a mill.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the farmer will let us stay in the stable overnight.”

~~~

The farmer was a bit surly, but his wife intervened, pointing out that they needed the coin. He finally agreed to let them sleep in the stables for the exorbitant sum of thirty Septims. Sapphire looked like she was going to explode, but Raven handed over the coin without comment.

“Gouging bastard,” said Sapphire as they changed and found a clean enough spot in the hay to lay their bedrolls.

“We don’t have much choice. And these are hard times. People are pretty unhappy everywhere.”

“I don’t care. I hope his house burns down.”

Raven tutted at her. They sat on their bedrolls and Sapphire dug out a bottle of ale while Raven pulled bread and cheese from her pack.”

“You want one of these?” asked Sapphire.

“No. I’ll drink my water. But thank you.”

“Your loss. So tell me about the soldiers we saw. Who or what was that man dressed in the fancy armor on the porch?”

“That was a Penitus Oculatus agent. They are the special guards of the Emperor.”

“What? Why would one be in Skyrim?”

“Well, I’m just guessing, but I bet it has something to do with the wedding. Vittoria Vici is a first cousin to the Emperor, so this agent is probably in charge of security.”

“He must think a lot of her. The Emperor, I mean.”

“Either that, or he’s planning on attending himself.”

“The Emperor? Here? Why wouldn’t that crier have said something?”

“If you were an Emperor and you were going to visit a war torn country, would you announce it ahead of time?”

Sapphire was silent. “I guess not,” she finally said. “He’ll be a prime target for Ulfric Stormcloak, won’t he?”

“Among others,” Raven nodded.

_I wonder if Astrid will get in on that action. Wish I wasn’t stuck in Riften._

~~~

They were snowed in for three days in the small stable, while the blizzard blew itself out. They spent most of the time huddled together for warmth.

“Don’t think this means we’re engaged or something,” Sapphire had grumbled at her.

Raven had laughed. “You’re not my type.” She made a couple of trips through the white hell to the farmhouse to procure more food for them, paying out more coin, although without Sapphire, she was able to bargain more ruthlessly.

By the time they were able to leave on the morning of the fourth day, they both reeked of horses and manure. The snow was hip deep in places, and they stopped to fashion snow shoes. The carriages weren’t running, so had they taken one they’d have been bogged down somewhere on the road. Raven felt they were lucky in that regard. But she urged Sapphire at her best pace south, anxious to get back to Riften to see what the next steps might be. She kept thinking of Nazir and his news—mostly of him. She wanted this rotten job over with.

~~~

“That is the biggest skeleton I’ve ever seen,” declared Sapphire. “Bigger than a mammoth.”

Raven was speechless. They’d stopped at the ruins of the Whiterun watchtower on their way to the city, where they planned on taking a carriage the rest of the way to Riften. They’d been on the road for a week, and both women were exhausted.

She bent over the skull of the dead dragon, noting a hole at the top of the skull. There were four plates of bone which met at this point, which she imagined probably was the weakest spot. For someone to strike that exact place while straddling a moving target in the middle of battle was astounding.

“This,” she touched it with her fingers, “was made by a blade. Someone climbed on the beast’s neck and jammed it in there.”

“Who in Oblivion would--or even could do that?” asked Sapphire. “And how did it rot so quickly in this weather? It should still be mostly intact.”

“I don’t know.” She examined scorch marks on the bones. “It looks like it burned. And whoever made the killing blow would have to be one strong son of a bitch. That bone’s gotta be like iron.”

“Well whoever he is, I don’t want to run afoul of him,” Sapphire avowed.

“I’m more worried about running into a dragon,” said Raven. “If we do, I hope whoever did this is close by.”

Sapphire scanned the skies with a worried frown. “Thanks for that, Raven.”

“Sorry. If we see one, we run like all Oblivion is after us.”

“I’m way ahead of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frost River is a location deleted from the vanilla game which was added back by the mod, "Cutting Room Floor".


	35. More Than A Chance Meeting

The Rift welcomed them back with barren branches and only a slight dusting of snow under the thick groves of aspen. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of wood smoke, wafting from scattered farmhouses and the larger lodges of nobles who made their homes in the valleys and on the lower slopes of the mountains which surrounded them. Most of the migratory birds had left for the winter, and only the occasional cardinal or brightly marked woodpecker was visible in the woods. At times they passed close enough to a dwelling to hear someone chopping wood, and as they drew closer to the city they began to pass travelers pushing handcarts filled with produce or goods to sell at the market.

Raven counted days and realized it was Loredas. She smiled. That could be very good. If Bryn was in the market at his stall, the crowd would provide cover for her to speak with him. If he wasn’t, then she’d have to wait until a more opportune time, assuming one presented itself. She found herself fervently hoping he’d be there. Then she wondered why. In fact, she wondered why she was feeling so happy to be returning to Riften at all.

She realized she’d been experiencing contentment ever since the Whiterun coachman had turned the cart onto the narrow track leading up to Ivarstead, past the scene of their ill-fated encounter with the bandits at Nilheim. She loved Falkreath and its dark, mysterious forests, but she rarely interacted with anyone in the village. Falkreath was a safe haven, a place to hide from the world. Riften was...something different. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She didn’t quite feel a part of the Guild yet—Mercer was blocking that. But the city itself, gritty and dark and dangerous, was starting to feel like home. The thought shocked her.

“Alright, give it up,” said Sapphire, from her seat on the opposite side of the cart.

Raven turned her head away from the scenery to look at Sapphire in surprise. “Give what up?”

“Whatever’s going through that twisty mind of yours. You’re smiling, and if you take one more deep breath I’m going to kick you.”

Raven laughed. “I like the way the air smells in the Rift. Right now it’s crisp. Makes me think of warm apple cider, preferably a mug of it in my hand at the Bee & Barb. They need a good bard, you know? And today will be market day. I might be able to talk to Bryn at his stand.”

Sapphire scowled. “Gods, I’d forgotten. You won’t be able to stir the crowd with a stick, they’ll be jammed in so tight. But you’re right about Bryn. He usually likes to run the stall on Loredas. He says he makes a fortune from all the fools.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. The crowd will provide the perfect cover. Wish I were a better pickpocket.”

“Well, I am, and I can tell you I’m not going to even attempt it. I stink so bad they’d know I was there.”

“Yes, you do.” Raven grinned at her.

Sapphire stuck out her tongue. “Look who’s talking. You’re making my eyes water. You’d better go straight for the bath or Mercer will kick you right out of his fine house. Speaking of which, aren’t you worried he’ll see you with Bryn?”

“With that crowd? Not likely.” She gauged the time from the sun. “At this hour, he should be safely inside the Cistern.”

The coachman pulled the horses to a stop in front of the stables and they piled out, pulling their packs after them.

“I’m heading straight for the Guild,” Sapphire told her. “I may sleep for a week. Good luck with Bryn.” There was a twinkle in her eyes that implied a deeper meaning than just Raven imparting the news about Karliah.

Raven shook her head slowly at Sapphire’s back. _I’m already spoken for, my friend._

~~~

She could hear his thick brogue before she saw him, which was saying something, for the noise from the throng was nearly deafening. It was a wonder that the boardwalks didn’t collapse beneath the weight. His voice, able to penetrate the loudest clamor, was what made him so good at dispensing justice within the guild. He could make himself heard, and people listened.

She wound her way around through a couple of alleys, coming out into the market between the tavern and the meadery. There he was, lifting his latest version of a miracle cure, entrancing a group of gullible souls with his well worn spiel. She remembered the first time she’d heard him, how she’d admired his aplomb and his good looks, and the shill she’d pulled off for him. The victim of that job was back at his stall and she wondered what sort of deal had been struck with Maven to allow it. But it was only a passing thought. Her focus was on how to attract Bryn’s attention discreetly. She bent over to pick up a pebble and quickly ascertained the location of the guards. There was only one, and he had his back to her. She threw the small rock. It hit the shelf beside the Guild’s Second and bounced into the stall.

He was good. He turned as if addressing the people closest to her and she saw his eyes dart in her direction. His expression didn’t change. Then he turned back to his business. She stepped back into the shadows beside the tavern, leaned against the wall and waited. Presently he appeared beside her, on the opposite side from the market.

“Hello, lass.”

She started violently.

“Sith—” she caught herself. “Divines, Bryn, you gave me a scare.”

He smiled. “I thought you were expecting me.”

“I was, but not from that side.”

“If I may say, lass, you could use a good scrubbing.”

She flushed, and wondered why she was so embarrassed. “Are you volunteering?” Then she was appalled at herself.

_What in the Name of Sithis made me say that?_

He smiled at her question, his eyes traveling over her as if he were speculating what she would look like without her clothing. “Well, I would, but I think Mercer would take exception to it.”

She cleared her throat, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. “Uh, where is he, by the way?”

“Still in the Cistern as far as I know, but he’ll be heading home for lunch soon. You’d better tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me quickly.” Regret laced his tone.

“I think I know who the buyer for Goldenglow is. And who funded the meadery in Whiterun. That was what Maven wanted me for. She wanted to sabotage the owner there and find out who backed him in getting his meadery up and running so soon.”

His forehead furrowed in puzzlement. “Yes, Mercer said as much. And while I appreciate the details, I’m not sure why you’re telling me. Shouldn’t this information go to Mercer—and Maven, right away?”

“I think you need to know, so you can protect yourself. You used to know her, a long time ago. It’s Karliah, Bryn. She’s come back. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s her.”

Bryn’s face turned white, and she could see him struggling to draw a breath, as if he’d just been sucker punched. As he recovered, she saw the emotions chase across his face; astonishment, dismay, suspicion, finally settling on anger. “Just how do you know so much about Karliah? And why would you think she meant anything to me—or for that matter, was a threat to me?”

_Oops. I will hold your secrets and you will hold mine…_

“I’m not stupid, Brynjolf. I can plainly see that the Guild is in trouble. Vex and Delvin both confirmed that when I first arrived, urging me to do as many jobs as I could to attract influential clients—people who can help us in other cities like Maven does here. And Delvin gave me a time frame for when the downfall started. What I’ve gleaned from Mercer tells me that he was in love with her and she rejected him for Gallus instead. And Thrynn told me that Gallus was the former guildmaster and was murdered. When I pull all that together, comparing the time passed since the Guild’s troubles began and the time since Gallus was killed, I can—well I can’t be _sure_, of course, but I can make a guess at what must have happened. Either Karliah killed Gallus or Mercer killed Gallus and framed her. That had to be the reason for the Guild’s decline.

“I had no idea that Karliah meant anything to you—all I hoped to do was warn you that she was back, because if her goal is to go after Mercer, then if you get in the way she might kill you too.”

_Whew. That’s a lot of lies. But he’s not likely to check with Mercer on details or he’ll reveal he’s been talking to me._

Time for some deflection. “What I don’t understand, is why Mercer would fall in love with her. He seems to be stuck on bloodlines and nobility.”

He stared at her, his anger fading. “And yet he’s claimed you,” he said.

_Ouch. Bastard._

“I am of noble blood, Brynjolf. From Cyrodiil. I don’t bandy it about, because the Imperials are after me for a murder I did not commit.”

He regarded her with some surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Then he sighed. “Karliah...she...aside from being the sweetest and most beautiful mer I’ve ever met, is the granddaughter of Queen Barenziah and a thief by the name of Drayven Indoril.” He looked down at the ground, shifting his weight. “So there is noble blood in her veins.”

_Fuck me. Karliah is the offspring of the illegitimate daughter of a_ Queen?

“That explains that, then,” said Raven. “Were you in love with her, Bryn?”

He lifted his head, giving her a hard stare. “That’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps not. It would be nice to know all the facts, though, especially if you have any interest in furthering your relationship with me. I can’t imagine you trying to help me get away from Mercer out of the kindness of your heart.” She spoke the last sentence in a hard tone, glaring at him.

_Take that, then, ginger-head._

He flushed. “Lass, I…” He lifted a hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to stroke her cheek. Then he thought better of it and dropped his arm. “I apologize. You’re right. I was in love with her. But no more. She killed Gallus. He was...more than a friend to me. He was the father I never had. He taught me everything I know.”

“How sure are you that she killed him? Do you have any hard evidence? Or are you relying on Mercer’s questionable word? Because I’m having a hard time equating the sweet, beautiful Elf who could capture _your_ heart with the cold-blooded murderer who would kill your surrogate father and mentor.” They were hard words, but she felt she needed to shock him out of his complacence. She was sure he had never taken his instincts out and examined them for what they were really telling him.

Once again he was at a loss for words, as if she’d just kicked him in the gut. Then his face darkened in anger, whether at her or at Mercer, she could not be sure.

“I have only Mercer’s word. He’d gone to meet Gallus at Snow Veil Sanctum, a tomb up in Winterhold. Karliah followed him. He came back without her, and he was cut to ribbons.”

“He can heal himself, Bryn. He’s healed me several times. For Divine’s sake, he’s Breton. So if he came back injured, he did it on purpose, to provide evidence for his story. Has he never healed anyone in the Guild?”

Brynjolf’s face flushed even darker. She could see fury in his eyes. “No. Vex nearly died from her ordeal at Goldenglow and he never lifted a finger to help her.”

_That tells me how much Mercer values me. My gods._

“I think you have your answer, Bryn.”

“We’ll never prove it to the rest of the Guild.”

“No. We’ll need hard evidence.”

“How will you get it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll keep digging, like I have been. You can help by going through Gallus’ room. Look for anything that indicates he suspected Mercer of any kind of treachery. Have you ever been in Mercer’s house?” She hesitated to call it a ‘home’. Lair would have been more appropriate.

“No, why?”

“He lives very lavishly. The Guild may be languishing in poverty, but its Guildmaster does very, very well.”

Brynjolf swore. “You’ve convinced me, lass. If we can pin the murder on him, that’s your way out.”

“Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, Bryn. We can’t risk it.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, lass. I won’t. You’d best get going now. You’ll be lucky to beat him to the house. Just…” he looked at her, and she couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. Concern? Admiration? Desire?

“What?”

He reached for her, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her forward. Then he kissed her. It was chaste—no tongue—but it was definite and firm. It was a statement. It said ‘I believe in you. I want you. I know the time is not now, but it will come and I will be here for you.’

He pulled back. “Be careful, lass.” Then he was gone.

She stood, staring after him, feeling unsettled. She’d kissed, or been kissed, in the course of many jobs over many years, not the least of which was with Mercer, and she’d gone much further with him...but this...this felt different; as if this time she was truly betraying Nazir’s trust in her.

She shoved the feeling down deep, locked it behind a door she rarely opened, then shook herself and walked back through the alley’s to traverse the main street toward Mercer’s house.


	36. Something Foul

Raven saw Mercer approaching from the opposite direction as she neared the front door of his house. She stopped at the entrance and waited, watching as he recognized her and his normal sour expression changed to one of, if not delight, then at least some small pleasure. He actually smiled at her. She took a couple of steps back as he reached her.

“I’m sorry, my lord, the road has left me rather...pungent.”

His smile turned into a grimace and he waved a hand in front of his face. “Gods, woman. You smell like a stable boy.”

“Sapphire and I got caught in a blizzard and spent three days in a barn. We were lucky to find that much shelter.”

He opened the door and she moved downwind. “Head straight for the bath. What did you find out?”

“The bill of sale was written by a woman.” She pulled the document from her pocket and offered it to him along with the promissory note. “There’s something else there, too. I’m supposed to give it to Maven, but you should see it also. The same person funded Honningbrew.”

She dropped her pack by the door and took her cloak and coat off while he read. Valla came running from the kitchen. She looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around Raven, but she stopped respectfully a few feet away and Raven handed off her wraps, smiling at her.

“We’ll discuss it when you get out of the tub. Go now. Valla, attend her.”

“Yes, milord.” Valla dropped a small curtsy. Then she spoke to Raven. “Go on down, milady, and I’ll fetch your robe.”

“Thanks, Valla.” Raven started down the stairs.

“Raven,” Mercer called after her, and she looked up at him. “Welcome back.”

She stared in surprise. “Thank you, my lord. It’s good to be back.”

It is good to be back. Maybe not because of you, but...I don’t know...because it feels like home?

She shook her head at herself and continued down the stairs.

~~~

Raven climbed into the tub as soon as the water was running hot. She would rather have lingered in a long soak, but she knew better than to keep Mercer waiting. Valla joined her shortly, carrying her robe.

“I’ve left your coat and cloak in the washroom, milady. I’ll wash them after lunch.”

“Thanks, Valla. They reek as much as I do.”

“I must say, milady, they do smell as if you rolled in horse dung.”

Raven chuckled. “I might as well have. I spent three days in a stable, waiting out a blizzard.”

“Well, we’ll have you clean in no time. Here, wet your head and I’ll wash your hair.”

Raven complied, and Valla began to lather it up. She talked as she worked, bringing Raven up to date on all the latest gossip, including the arrival of some dark woman who made quite a stir in the city, doing some work for the Jarl.

“A Red Guard?” asked Raven.

“Yes, milady. Quite menacing she looked too.”

“Really. Is she still here?”

“No, milady. She left yesterday. It’s funny...well, not funny—but strange—right after she left, I mean, the next morning, Constance Michel from the orphanage came to report to the guards that old Grelod was dead. Stabbed in her bed, she was, or so I heard.”

“You think this Red Guard woman did it?”

“Well, I certainly don’t know for sure but it seemed very coincidental, you know. Not that anyone’s going to miss the old witch.”

“I never met her. She wasn’t good to the children, I take it?”

Valla humphed. “She was horrible. I heard rumors...it’s awful to even think of—but there were tales of her...letting men in to...use the girls…”

“My gods!” Raven was shocked. “Well then, it seems she’s gotten her just desserts.”

“Thank the Divines, milady. She’s burning in the fires of Oblivion at this moment, I hope.”

_Lost in the Void is more like it. Could the woman be a new assassin, doing Astrid’s bidding? Pretty sloppy, if so. And she better keep her paws off Nazir..._

Raven rinsed off, while thinking unhappy thoughts. Then she climbed out and wrapped up her hair while Valla dried her off.

~~~

She was clean, if not exactly presentable, when she took her seat at the table across from Mercer. He was nearly finished with his meal, and was sipping his wine. Valla set a warm plate in front of her and poured her tea. Raven picked up the mug and sipped first, wanting to gulp the jarrin root tea down greedily but not wanting to scorch her tongue.

“Mmm, I haven’t had any good tea since I left.” She cut into her pheasant next. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“Someone is trying to drive a wedge between Maven and the Guild.” Mercer growled.

“Some woman, you mean. Do you have any idea who she might be?”

“I’ll keep my own counsel for now. I’ve found out who the broker is, and I’m sending you to shake him down. He’ll be able to tell us for sure.”

_You know who it is, you bastard. Why won’t you tell me?_

“Who’s the broker?”

“Gaju-Lei is an old alias of Gulum-Ei. He’s our inside man at the East Empire Trading Company, in Solitude. Slimy bastard.”

_Shit. I was just there. Now I have to go back?_

She swallowed the bite she was chewing. “Now you want me to go back to Solitude?”

“Yes. Alone. I don’t want anyone else in on this. You leave your friend out of it,” he said in a commanding and irritated tone. “Don’t tell anyone where you’re going or why.”

She kept her face impassive, squashing the anger she felt. “Yes, my lord,” she said meekly.

He ate the last few bites of his food, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I suppose you must go speak with Maven next.”

“Yes, my lord. Then I have some things to sell to Delvin.”

He nodded. “Very well. I’ll head back to the Guild. Finish up your business, then we’ll come back here. I have some lost time to make up for.” He gave her his faint smile again.

_Oh and I’m_ so _looking forward to it._

She did her best to make her return smile as genuine as possible.

“You can rest up tomorrow and ready your things, but I want you on the road by Morndas, early. I want this matter resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He rose and came around the table to her, tilted her head back and kissed her gently. She was surprised at his tenderness.

“Good work, by the way,” he said. Then he walked toward the door, pulled on his jacket and let himself out.

She shivered, and not just from the cold breeze that had chased through the room as he opened the door.

_He’s up to something. Something more than just swindling the Guild. He’s never been this nice to me before. What is he planning?_

~~~

Raven lingered at the table, enjoying her meal in peace, for once. She drank two cups of the tea. Then, with a sigh of reluctance, she picked up the promissory note and went upstairs to change into clean clothes. She’d go see Maven first, then deliver the fire salts to Balimund. The market crowd should have cleared some by the time she was finished with Maven.

Valla was in the kitchen washing up the dishes when she came back down. Raven cleared a spot on the work table and boosted herself up on to it.

“It is so good to have you back, milady. I’ve missed you terribly. Milord has been an absolute bear in your absence.”

“He did seem quite pleased to have me back...for him, anyway.”

“Positively jubilant,” Valla gave her a sideways smirk. “I can’t believe he’s sending you back out again so soon. I don’t suppose you can share what it is he is so concerned about?”

“No, I can’t. And anything you’ve overheard should be kept strictly to yourself. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if he learned you’d been telling tales.”

The woman nodded at the dishwater. “I’ve no doubt of that, milady. I never speak of anything that happens here to anyone.”

“That’s best.” Raven sighed. “I’ve got to go speak with Maven Black-Briar, and then see Balimund at the smithy. Then I’m going to the Guild.”

“Yes, milady, I heard. Then no doubt milord will…” she aborted what she’d been about to say. “I just wish you could have a lie down. You look exhausted.”

Raven nodded. “I am. My Lord may find me less responsive than he would like. I hope he likes the company of the dead. Do you need anything from the market while I’m out?”

Valla shook her head. “I got what I needed early this morning before the crowd got too bad.”

“Good. I’ll take my leave, then.” She slid off the table. “See you later.”

~~~

Maven received her in her office again, her usual sour attitude not improved by reading the promissory note Raven offered her.

“This doesn’t tell me anything, there’s only this odd little symbol at the top, no signature,” she complained, as if Raven were somehow at fault for the lack of information.

“Yes, I’ve seen that symbol before, on the bill of sale for Goldenglow,” Raven commented.

_And I’m pretty sure I know who it is._

“Well, whoever this mysterious marking represents, they’ll regret starting a war with me,” she vowed. “You should bring this information to the Guild immediately. There’s also the matter of your payment.” She reached into the top drawer of her desk and drew out a Dwarven dagger. Raven could see it gleamed with enchantment. “I think you’ll find this more than adequate for your services.”

_Really, Maven? I nearly died from venomous skeevers, fought an insane mage qua alchemist and poisoned the Captain of the Whiterun Guard for this? You’re a cheap fucking bitch._

She plastered a smile on her face and accepted the dagger graciously. Then she tucked the note into her pocket and bid the old matriarch a good day.

_I’ll settle your debt with me later._

~~~

Balimund looked exhausted from the day’s work. He glanced up as she approached and she watched an exasperated look cross his face, as if he just couldn’t take one more thing on his plate. He turned to face her, clutching a hot piece of metal in one hand and his hammer in the other, exasperation changing to challenge.

Raven stopped short, wondering if he was really planning on attacking her.

“I’ve had a hard day, thief. What do you want?”

“My sympathies for your troubles, Balimund. I had thought to bring you the fire salts, but if you don’t want them, I guess I could find another use for them,” she said tartly.

_Like shoving them up your arse._

The man’s mouth dropped open, and both metal and hammer dropped to the stone at his feet. “Wha—you’ve really brought them?”

“I told you I would.” She held up the bag containing the salts.

He held out a trembling hand to accept the bag, then opened it and poured out a portion into his calloused hand.

“Don’t—!” she warned.

He bellowed in pain and flung the handful of fire dust into the forge. Flames surged upward wherever the salts struck the coals. Then he stuck his hand into the water trough.

“Didn’t you know they’d burn you?” she asked. _Idiot!_

He straightened, then threw back his head, his deep laughter echoing across the market. “Of course I knew! I was so surprised you’d brought them I forgot myself!” He grinned down at her. “I don’t know how you did it and I don’t want to know, but thank you for this. You’ve saved my business. You’ve saved me. And you’ve...well, you’ve warmed my heart.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him briefly, then turned to go.

“Wait!”

She turned back.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“You never bothered to ask. It’s Raven.” Then she turned again and walked to the nearest bridge which would take her to the graveyard, and the Guild’s secret entrance.


End file.
